


Flint and Steel - Part I: The Slave

by Thlayli_ra



Series: Flint and Steel [1]
Category: NXT, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baron Corbin Being an Asshole, Boys In Love, Bállins, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Master/Slave, Multi, Oaths & Vows, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 104,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thlayli_ra/pseuds/Thlayli_ra
Summary: Farm boy, Finn Bálor, will always remember the day the Red Army of the Cross marched in; destroying his way of life and ripping him away from his family and home forever.Now, nothing but a lowly slave of his sadistic master, Baron Corbin, his only hope lies in form of a kind officer, Seth Rollins, who reminds Finn that even though his captors may claim his body, they can never own his soul.
Relationships: Finn Balor | Prince Devitt/Baron Corbin, Finn Balor | Prince Devitt/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: Flint and Steel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615282
Comments: 88
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a pairing I never knew I needed in my life until I read the incredible [Finn's Playroom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187671/chapters/40412150) by peppermintquartz and welcometothemeatshack. Now I am truly onboard the good ship Bállins. So I am writing my first M/M fic and throwing in some of my odd little interests including medieval history and world-building to bring you Flint and Steel.
> 
> **Note - As anyone who's read my fics knows, I tend to put my main characters through the wringer and poor Finn really suffers in this story, including kidnap, rape, torture and emotional and physical abuse. This is not a fluffy little love story so please be warned if these subjects may cause you any distress **

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weary eyes spot a farm

They had been on the road now for four days. Four days of near constant trudging through the filth with the rain battering down on them, hitting off of helmet, plate and shield, creating a melancholy beat for the men to march along to. Four days of gnawing hunger, nibbling at the measly rations while their bellies chewed on their own stomach lining. Four days of marching, marching, marching with no end in sight.

The rainwater slid off of Seth’s helmet, dripping steadily onto the back of his scarlet red tunic, soaking the rough fabric through. His backplate, jutting back and forth with the sway of the sweating horse beneath him, rubbed the wet cloth against the exposed skin at his neck, colouring it as red as his attire. His fingers clasped the reigns, as cold and unfeeling as the metal gauntlets that adorned them. His whole body was numb beneath the metal armour, rattling with the rainfall, his head stooped, resembling some spell-cast corpse hunched over its undead steed, doomed to march, march, march for eternity.

The battle had been hard fought and although it had ended in victory, the toll was damning on his men. Sent by High Constable Angle to quell a rebel faction that had captured one of their camps, the contingent of five and seventy men had traversed the land, some sixty miles south of Dubhlinn, most of them on foot, over hill and dale. As they set forth from the occupied city, the sun rose high, shining down on their righteous cause and filling every heart with the promise of glory in battle, a quick victory and a triumphant return.

Nobody had told them that Hibernians fought dirty.

Accustomed to the wild terrain that surrounded the captured campsite, the Hibernians had hidden, covering themselves in mud and foliage as a form of camouflage, seeping into the overgrown undergrowth. There they lay in waiting, scattered around the countryside, picking off soldiers one-by-one as the unsuspecting army marched ever closer to their destination. The resulting casualties unsettled the troops like a wasp nest struck by a stick, and it took Seth and his fellow officers some pains to regain control of their spooked men. Despite heightened caution and constant awareness, only a handful of these guerilla fighters were captured and even less of them were willing to talk.

The troops reached the camp after a three day march. Fresh feet and ample supplies had spurred them on, but the losses en route had dampened their spirits. When the disheartened soldiers saw the mighty wall that encased the camp securely, their hope sank further. The enemy would be difficult to coax out from their sanctuary. A dreaded siege would have to come into force.

‘Sir.’ A voice below him stirred Rollins from his thoughts. He glanced down to find his aide, Sesugh Crews, a man so famed for his bravery in battle that he had garnered the nickname of ‘Apollo’ from his comrades. ‘Orders from Field Marshal Corbin, we’re to change course towards that hillside,’ he pointed off into the distance. Seth could barely lift his weary head to look.

‘Why, what’s up there?’ Seth asked, more than just a hint of skepticism in his tone.

‘They’ve found a farm,’ Apollo explained, ‘with enough supplies to feed every man and outbuildings to shelter our wounded. Field Marshal Corbin and his other officers have appropriated the farmhouse.’

Seth nodded silently, his hands unmoving on the reigns of his horse. ‘This farm, how many occupy it?’ These past few months had made him wary of the locals.

‘An old man and his son,’ Apollo answered.

‘No one else?’ Seth probed. ‘A farm with as much supplies as you suggest must boast a larger crew than one decrepit old man and a snot-nosed teenager.’

‘We’ve searched the entire holding,’ Apollo tried to reassure his superior. ‘Our scouts are combing the surrounding countryside. There’s nobody else for miles around. It’s very secluded.’

Seth nodded again. With enemies all around them, unseen in the shadows, he felt very uneasy at having the entire contingent settled in one place yet, despite all of his doubts, the lure of a full belly and a warm bunk by the fire was too glorious to resist.

‘We’ll make our way there now,’ Seth confirmed, stretching his fingers to try and ease some feeling back into them. ‘Spread the word among the men.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Apollo gave a smart salute. ‘In the meantime, eat this, sir. We need you to keep your strength up.’

Seth nibbled on the salted beef as he maneuvered his horse away to the left, leaving the relative solidity of the small path and over the weather-soaked fields. The mud slurped around his horse’s hooves, slowing the journey further but the promise of food and rest spurned him and his men on.

After finishing his meager portion of the daily rations, Seth found enough curiosity in him to lift his head and spy their destination. He could see the hill, a tall crag of earth jutting out from the boggy fields surrounding it. The fog ringed the top of the hill, making the farm itself difficult to make out from this distance but already Seth approved of its location. Perched on the top of a height, the landscape could be surveyed and any sign of an ambush could be easily detected. That is, he mused as he craned his neck to look at the countryside around him, if there are any other living things here bar the birds and sheep. His experience back in the woods reminded him not to be so flippant.

They reached the farm by dusk. Seth could feel his men heave a collected sigh of relief as they finally saw the spots of light emanating from ahead. Clearly it wasn’t just Seth who had feared becoming lost in the dark, open fields. Rollins pushed his exhausted horse to climb the last few feet of the steep path to finally arrive into the hustle and bustle of the make-shift encampment. All around the generously sized yard, men were rushing to task, a melody of noise and movement, a stark contrast to the spooky silence of the empty fields. Some were fetching water, others preparing meals for the men over scattered campfires, some were pitching tents and others taking an inventory of their weapons and supplies. A barn at the far end had been cleared of livestock to house the wounded, those familiar with the art of healing now able to fully commit themselves to the task, taking turns so that they too may rest their weary bodies. A whinny to his right and Seth located the stables where another group of men were tending to the horses, brushing down their silky coats and yanking clods of dirt and stones out from their hooves while the animals greedily grazed from the oat sacks tied around their heads.

Seth clicked his tongue and steered his own mare towards the stables. The reigns were accepted by a young cadet, a couple of years younger than Seth, who the men affectionately called Ricochet, a nickname he had earned in his training. He bowed respectfully to his superior as Seth dismounted his steed, before coaxing the spent beast to the warmth of the stable. Seth watched awhile, inwardly approving of the way the young man whispered soothing words to the large animal and gently stroked his hand down its long muzzle. If anyone had eyed the young officer with his famously two-toned hair at that moment, they would have thought he was merely ensuring his prize steed was being well looked after when in truth, he was waiting until the blood returned to his aching legs. His whole body felt as if it were made of tin in dire need of some oil. A rich aroma of something hot and juicy slinked into his nostrils and his belly gave a growl of satisfaction. Pain and exhaustion were instantly forgotten with the promise of a hot meal and he hobbled his way on creaky limbs towards the farmhouse.

The house itself was a small but surprisingly spacious abode. One room took up the majority of the interior with a stone fireplace at one end and a wooden bunk at the other, laden with an assortment of colourful, homespun blankets. A ladder marked the way up to a small open loft space. Above their heads, an army of interlocking beams, blackened by the fire’s smoke, watched the intruder’s to the family home like silent, celestial guardians.

As Seth walked in through the narrow doorway, the heat hit him violently, squeezing all of his life from him and leaving him light headed. He grasped his head in icy hands, trying to regain his senses.

‘Hell’s teeth Rollins, will you shut that door,’ a voice scolded him. ‘You’re letting all the heat out.’

Seth found enough wherewithal to stumble further into the room and close the door securely behind him. Opening his eyes, the room around him shuddered.

‘Hah, just look at the poor lad,’ another voice, laden with a thick accent, came closer and a strong arm placed itself around his shoulder. ‘Long journey, huh Seth, my boy? Thought you were made of sterner stuff.’ The arm lead him further into the room and helped him down into a wooden stool right beside the fire. Seth felt a confliction of feelings, a part of him wanted to pull away from the fire to help recalibrate his bearings, but the other side of him, the one that was frozen to the bone wanted to pull himself closer to the blaze. In the end, the latter half spoke loudest.

‘Here, get that down ya lad.’ Something made of light metal was placed into his hand. Seth raised the container to his face and instantly recognised the smell. He flinched at first but steadied himself enough to take a hearty swig. The fiery liquid inside the container burnt its way down the back of his throat and into his stomach, almost making him gag but his body was thankful for the burst of flame. Another generous swig and his mind began to fall in line as well.

Seth opened his eyes and smiled, offering the hipflask back to its owner. Drew McIntyre was a tall, broad-shouldered man, as every bit as intimidating as he looked with his wild locks and untamed beard. He sported a small braid in his raven hair and the plaid of his people around his waist, decked in the earthy checks of his local weaver back home in Caledonia. He was one of a handful of Caledonians privileged enough to earn a position of power in the Army of the Cross; a reward for his father’s assistance during the occupation of the country north of the Anglia. Of all the wars of conquest the army had fought, the battle for Caledonia had proven the most difficult. Her people were fierce and incredibly proud. Even now, they stirred up acts of rebellion as frequently as waves battering a beach during a storm. Seth was thankful he had been sent here to Hibernia, where the unrest, though not unusual, was considerably lesser.

McIntyre reclaimed his hipflask and returned to his chair, glugging down the rest of the fiery contents as he went. Shaking his head with a mix of disgust and admiration, Seth moved his eyes from the burly Caledonian to the other occupants of the room, finding them all to be from his own birthplace, known by the locals of this small island nation as the New World. To his left sat the muscle bound form of Roberto Lashley, his features carved into the same pensive snarl he forever seemed to sport. Beside him sat his ever-present aide, Lionel Rush, a sniveling weasel of a man whose only achievement as far as Seth could tell was being favourite to his superior. Rush would often boast of Lashley’s accomplishments as if they were his own and had earned more than his fair share of ire among the men since his arrival in Hibernia only a few short months ago.

As for Lashley himself, Seth knew very little. He was not interested in engaging in conversation other than military based, and, unlike his aide, never brought up his past. All that Seth knew was that he had served most of his tenure back home and had been given the promotion to officer in regard of that. It was abundantly clear though that his dispatch to Hibernia was an insult to him and he had lofty ambitions to raise himself to a post in the capital of Anglia. Seth had plucked that flower of ambition once before and he knew the thorns would dig in soon enough.

The final man in their company sat sprawled out in the chair of honour, eyes glaring intently into the fire. Thomas Corbin was a career soldier to the point that he was on the battlefield when news of his father’s death reached him, officially giving him the title of Baron. Since then, he had rocketed through the ranks to the honour of Field Marshal. It was no secret that he craved greater positions still, eyeing up High Constable Angle’s role in particular. One day, that call would come. In the meantime, Corbin earned his superiors’ admiration by keeping the occupied people of Hibernia in line through his strict rules and cut-throat discipline. Nobody could carry out acts of cruelty with such cold callousness as the tall, lean man currently sitting to Seth’s right.

It was this ruthlessness that had finally triggered the end to the siege, only five short days ago. It had been two months since they had arrived at the camp, and nerves were beginning to fray. Autumn was on her final days and the Winter chill was starting to dig her fingers in. The supplies dwindled, the scavengers were finding less food to restock and the men were beginning to go hungry. The nights drew out longer, bringing with it the first frosts, and the weather turned nasty. Baron Corbin knew that his men wouldn’t last much longer and to retreat was unthinkable. He ordered that the few Hibernian ambushers they had managed to take prisoner be brought to him.

Seth would never forget the sight of the imposing Field Marshal, standing at just over six feet and eight inches, clad in full plate armour, the grey winter sun glancing off of his steel helmet, the plumage of scarlet feathers barely ruffled by the bitter breeze. He stood within sight of the camp yet far enough to be spared from their archer’s reach and, with purpose, unsheathed his mighty broadsword, an impressive weapon the length of his arm with a wolf’s head carved into the hilt. Silently, he beckoned for the first prisoner to be brought to him with one cold movement of his finger. The man was dragged forward, thrashing against his bonds, as he was forced to his knees and his head pushed forward, exposing the skin at his neck. Corbin had looked straight ahead at the camp and its invisible (but watchful) occupants as he raised his mighty sword high above his head. No emotion passed his face as swung his sword with such ferocity that the prisoner’s head came away cleanly from its body. Those closest to the scene swore that the head blinked two or three times, such was the swiftness of the execution that even the dead man hadn’t caught onto his demise.

He waited. In all, they waited fifteen minutes. Nothing stirred in the camp. Corbin ordered for the next prisoner. 

Soon, the mists of dawn dissipated into morning, and the decapitated corpses of their prisoners lay scattered around Corbin’s feet. His sword and armour was splattered with crimson as dark as the plumes on his helm. As the last man was brought forth, Corbin raised his sword but paused. The men at his back watched their leader as he froze in the act, sword posed high, waiting for the next move. A slither of a smile came to the field marshal’s lips and he slowly lowered his weapon, his gaze turning to the camp. It was then that Seth became aware of a rumble, a sound of a small earthquake edging closer. Following his superior’s gaze, he saw the gate of the camp open and a hoard of screaming Hibernians spill forth, weapons raised high as they bellowed their battle cries.

The grin was now wide on Corbin’s face as he lifted his sword high and cried out triumphantly.

‘MEN!’ His voice carried on the wind louder than the trumpets of war. ‘PREPARE FOR GLORY!’

He made his way towards his horse but not before cleaving the head of their last prisoner.

But now, the blood from his greaves had been wiped clean, his sword was safety in its sheath and leaning close to hand at the side of his chair, the helm had been discarded and left on the table behind him. The battle was over and it had been victorious. Another rebellion had been quashed. Yet, the field marshal didn’t wear any signs of glory, or pride or of triumph.

‘So,’ McIntyre was never a fan of silence. A man who spent his spare nights in the most raucous public houses, drinking his weight in ale and singing the crudest of ditties with a busty wench on each knee could never feel comfortable in quiet reflection. ‘The men are pitching tents out there. How long are you planning on staying here, sir?’

Corbin moved like a great grey statue come to life. ‘I believe one night will suffice. I want to keep the line moving until we reach Dubhlinn, which could take a day, maybe two.’

‘Aye, sir,’ McIntyre nodded in understanding. There was a twitch at the side of his lips that told Seth that he was pleased with this answer. The man had been deprived of his taverns and wenches for months, with only his own palm to keep his ungodly libido at bay. Liaisons between an officer and his men was strictly off limits on penalty of death and with a man like Corbin in charge, McIntyre had been uncharacteristically well behaved. Another few days and he would finally get his satisfaction.

A sharp knock at the door caught everyone’s attention. Corbin ordered the man outside to enter and Seth’s aide, Apollo, walked in with a respectful salute.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,’ Apollo said, ‘but I have that information you wanted.’ Corbin narrowed his eyes at the intrusion when Seth quickly stood up to explain.

‘I tasked Crews here with gathering as much information about the area as he could including all the information from the scouts on their return.’

McIntyre snorted a laugh through his nose. ‘Those peasants hiding in the bushes with their little bows and arrows have you spooked, Rollins?’

Rollins would never admit out loud the truth of McIntyre’s mockery. ‘It can never hurt to be careful,’ he replied. ‘We’ve only just quelled one rebellion. There may be more. To these people, we are their enemies.’

‘These people are fools,’ McIntyre shot back. ‘Not so different from the drooling idiots in my own country, who would wrap a rope around my neck the second I step one foot there and gut me while I choked on my own blood. Nothing but peasants who can’t look past their own small, insignificant lives to see the bigger picture.’

‘And what is that bigger picture?’ Seth asked, goading the larger man.

‘That under The Cross, we can prosper,’ McIntyre declared. ‘That being part of their empire can open gateways, become part of something grander.’

‘Even at the cost of their freedom?’ Seth glanced gingerly towards Corbin. ‘Only reiterating what I’ve overheard from the locals.’

McIntyre snorted again. ‘What use is freedom when you have infants starving to death, women on the streets clawing at you for any scraps you can offer them, men who can’t find enough work to rub two coins together. If that’s what you call freedom, boy, you can keep it.’

‘Enough,’ Corbin’s voice silenced the bickering. ‘Tell us what you have found out.’

All eyes turned to Crews who, with a nod from Seth, began to explain his findings. ‘This farm is isolated on all sides. There is a mountain range to the north, lowlands to the south and east and bogs to the west. Nearest town is a two day ride from here towards the east, right on the coast at the edge of the mountain range. Locals call it Bray. Small fishing village of maybe two hundred fifty to three hundred people.’

Corbin sat unmoving, his fingers gently caressing the hilt of his sword. ‘Any threats?’ he asked.

‘No, sir,’ Crews responded. ‘Area’s population is primarily made up of farmers and fishers. So long as we don’t disturb their work, they will not trouble us.’

‘Good,’ Corbin mused. ‘You may leave.’

‘Thank you Crews,’ Seth said to his aide who saluted before sharply turning and disappearing through the door. The room went quiet except for the crackle and pop of the flames in the hearth.

‘A mountain range between us and Dubhlinn,’ McIntyre was not the only one to think it but he was the first to say it. ‘That may cause a problem.’

Seth glanced a look at each of the men sat before him. Lashley scowled beside Rush who looked half asleep, McIntyre scratched his fingers through his beard while Corbin sat, silent and still. All minds were at work as to their future, all men wanting out of this crude dwelling and back to their more lavish abodes in Hibernia’s capital.

Another knock at the door, this time softer. ‘Enter,’ called Corbin and a stranger walked through the portal. Seth looked the man up and down, dressed in a long tunic and frayed cloak, betraying him to be the owner of the establishment they were currently residing in. He chalked him up to be in his fifties with a bald head and a shock of white facial hair lining his chin that draped down the front of his chest. He shoulders stooped, he walked with the aid of a large cane.

‘Good sirs,’ the man said, his voice thick with the accent of the Hibernian locals. ‘Please accept this meal we have prepared for you. We slaughtered the last of our late-born lambs to honour you with fresh meat on this cold night.’

A smell was wafting into the room from outside, the succulent scent of a stodgy stew. Mouths were moistening, tongues licking dry lips and empty bellies purring agitatedly. Every eye fell on Corbin, expectant.

He nodded. The old man bowed gratefully, turned and whistled.

Behind him, a second man entered the room, gracefully gliding on silent feet. Instantly, he caught Seth’s eye.

In hindsight, Seth had imagined the farmer’s son to be a youth of no more than seventeen with the red face of the outdoor conditions and the naivety of a man who had yet to feel the warmth of a lover’s thighs. The figure before him was as far from this as it could possibly be. The boy was in fact a man around the same age as Seth he guessed, perhaps older, a couple of inches shorter in height and slim in build. He wore a rough-spun tunic, stone washed blue in colour, with brown stockings and leather shoes lines with wooden patens to combat the wet weather. The arms exposed on either side of the tunic were leanly muscled, typical of a farmer’s boy, finished with fingers worn with hard labour and even harder weather. Atop his head was a nest of dark brown hair, short in length but tousled by the wind. His head was bowed in respect and Seth stooped to try and make out his face, failing in his efforts.

The son placed the large cooking pot he carried onto the small table in the corner while his father collected some bowls and a serving spoon. Gently pushing the younger man aside, he stirred the contents of the stew before dishing up a bowlful, which he gave to his son to deliver. The farmer’s boy went to Corbin, offering the field marshal first serving of the stew. Corbin waved it away, motioning to his officers and seeing McIntyre was the closest, the young man went to him next.

The grin on McIntyre’s face had turned predatory as soon as the young man had entered the room. He fixed the youth with a salacious glare, absentmindedly licking his lips as the Hibernian drew closer. He accepted the bowl but before the young man could move away, McIntyre engulfed his wrist in his bear paw.

‘Hold on a minute there, lad,’ he cooed, his voice a soft growl. ‘No need to rush.’

The young man looked back at his father who gave a sharp nod. Seeing he was trapped for the meantime, the farmer’s son bowed his head and stood obediently before McIntyre.

‘How old are you, boy?’ McIntyre’s tongue flicked out like a snake tasting the air for its prey.

‘Thirty-one,’ the shorter man replied, his heavy accent pronouncing the beginning of thirty like a breathy ‘d’. The smile reached McIntyre’s eyes as he nodded approvingly.

‘What’s your name?’ McIntyre asked the youth who chanced another glance at his father. By now the farmer was glaring at his son, his look a clear warning.

‘Finn,’ the young man said at last. ‘Finn Bálor… m’lord.’

There was an edge to that final word. To Seth, there was a hint of venom to it, but decided to chalk it up to nerves. If it had been _him_ caught in McIntyre’s grip as the man’s eyes raked over him lustfully, he would be feeling jittery too.

‘Good name,’ McIntyre praised. ‘ _Strong_ name.’ One paw still gripped the Hibernian’s wrist, pulling him closer towards the Caledonian as his other hand trailed up the shorter man’s toned arm. Seth saw the young man try and fail to suppress a shiver.

‘Come on McIntyre, let him go,’ Seth called out.

‘Wait your turn, Rollins,’ McIntyre spat, his grip tightening around the farm boy’s wrist.

‘We’re starving here, let him get back to serving,’ Rollins motioned between himself and Lashley, hoping the muscled man would back him up. Lashley only scowled. But it was enough to caution McIntyre and he finally let the young man go, his grip leaving a faint red welt on the Hibernian’s skin.

Lashley and Rush were each served their meals by the farm boy all under the watchful gaze of McIntyre’s tiger-eyes. Rush performed one of his duties as aide and took the first bite of his superior’s bowl to check for signs of foul play. He gave the all clear and soon Lashley, Rush and McIntyre were digging greedily into their meals. Seth watched them, his stomach churning with pain. Finally, he saw the young man, Finn, tread towards him on those strange, silent feet of his, full bowl of stewed meat and vegetables in his hand. Seth had to stop himself from grabbing the bowl off of him.

‘Thank you,’ he said, glancing up politely to the youth.

Time stopped.

In an instant, his hunger was forgotten, the lingering chill in his bones was a distant memory and the world retreated around him.

Two intensely blue eyes, the colour of a cloudless sky on a summer’s day. Like a memory he could barely remember from his childhood, lying on the grass, feeling the soft breeze on his face as he stared up into the vast expense above him.

Suddenly, they were gone and he snapped back to the room as if he’d been under a spell. His heart thumped in his chest and he almost spilled the bowl from his trembling fingers. He looked around him but nobody else had noticed his strange reaction. He took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves and scooped the hunk of crusty bread out of the bowl, gnawing the stew-soaked morsel nervously.

Seth sat, trying to be nonchalant, trying to keep his eyes cast downward but he found them wandering over to the Medusa in the room, uncaring whether it would turn him to stone or not. He needed one more look. Just one more.

His wish was granted as the young man came around to give Corbin his share, which he finally accepted without a single glance in the farm boy’s direction. Seth located those incredible gems, like two brilliant shards of topaz shining brightly in this cave-like room around them. His heart fluttered again and he hid his smile behind his chunk of bread.

Now he could see the young Hibernian more clearly, there was more to like about that face. It was very comely, a pleasant arrary of masculine features such as a broad jaw and prominent forehead softened by curves. Over the radiant blue eyes (which Seth could now see were hooded slightly, only adding to their allure), there were arched eyebrows leading to that glorious curved forehead and bird’s nest hair on his crown. His jaw was a long and broad oval covered with a thin shade of stubble. A perfectly formed nose swept out from this siren visage and full, pink lips added the finishing touch. A far cry from the freckled faced urchin he had envisioned.

The pair, father and son, stayed and served the officers of the Army of the Cross until the stewpot had been emptied and all officer’s bellies were contently full. With a bow, they departed, taking the used dishes with them. Seth could finally allow himself to look up as the door closed with a soft click, the Medusa safely away from sight. 

Conversation turned to business briefly before weariness took its strangle hold of the group. Corbin, as leader, was given the bunk while Rush, being the smallest, was sent to the cramped loft. This left the rest of the limited floor space to be taken up by the three officers, two of which were towering lumps of muscle. As Seth lay there, rutted in between the two behemoths, he found himself unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. The fire had burned strong and left the room stifling. He decided a brisk walk might help him tire out his overactive mind.

The night was frosty and he could see each breath he released into the freezing night air. Lit only by the moon, the farmyard was now void of movement save for a solider dotted here and there, on sentry duty. As he passed each one on his way, they bowed their head in respect, some, primarily those in his own garrison, would briefly lament the temperature. He made a point of looking in on the wounded, clasping an encouraging hand on the shoulder of both healer and patient as he softly shuffled between the make-sift beds of straw and linen. Back out in the night, he gulped in a large gasp of fresh air; that barn smelled of death.

As he carried on in his travels, he passed by the cart at the side of the barn, loaded up with the dead wrapped in shrouds. They would be buried first thing in the morning. He didn’t linger long.

The last leg of his walk brought him past the stables. Most of the horses, now fed and watered, were dozing, blissfully unaware of the intruder walking close by them. It was then that Seth heard a sound.

The lilting tones of a voice singing.

He edged closer to the voice, trying to remain unseen so that he wouldn’t disturb the song, his ears drinking in the soft, sweet melodies of a language he didn’t recognise.

The singer came into view and Seth ducked down into the shadows on seeing the familiar face of the farm boy. He sat, feeling his body tremble like before and not from the cold, watching the man five years his senior as he brushed down the hide of a horse (Seth’s horse!) all while singing that bewitching song of his people.

‘There you go, beautiful,’ Finn cooed the horse. ‘Good as new. You’ll have the colts chasing you in no time.’ The horse swished her tail in response, making the young Hibernian laugh, a sound that was as sweet to Seth as his song. ‘Sleep now, lass. You’re not the only one needs some rest.’

He patted the horse’s side affectionately before disappearing from Seth’s sight again. Seth heard a rustle and a long, drawn out sigh. As he made his way forward, as silent as the night, he spied the young Hibernian in the corner of the stable, tucked up on a bed of straw and wrapped in a thin blanket, squirming to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Seth felt a pang of emotion inside him, realising that it had been Seth and his fellow officers that had evicted the young man from his warm bed inside the farmhouse, forcing him, and no doubt his elderly father, to find refuge with the animals for the night. Seth felt the weight of the sacrifice and determined to not to let it be made in vain. With a single backward glance at the young man, he made a beeline for the farmhouse, thankful for the gift the farmer and son had given him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father and son clash/ a vow is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the views, kudos and comments on the first chapter of Flint and Steel - you guys are awesome! As a token of my gratitude, I have drawn our leading men - [Finn Balor](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Farmboy-Finn-Balor-829266662l%22) and [Seth Rollins](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Junior-Officer-Seth-Rollins-829267088)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the second chapter - our boys finally come face-to-face!

Dawn brought with it two surprises.

One was a harsh frost that covered the land in a sheet of tiny diamonds, sparkling under the weak early winter sun.

The other was something altogether different but no less stunning.

Seth emerged from the farmhouse, dreary and sore from a restless night’s sleep, clad only in his tunic, breeches and basic armour – breastplate, greaves and gauntlets. Already the camp was stirring to life; sentries were changing guard, those who’d been on night shift gratefully retreating to tents for some rest, cooks were rekindling firewood, trying to spark up flame with flint and steel, in order to prepare the mid-day meal, healers were tending their patients while overseeing iron-stomached volunteers, each wearing masks across their lower faces, removed those who had passed on overnight.

Seth heard the shrill neighs of the horses and thought there no harm in checking on his steed first. He marched a little too quickly towards the stables, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest but it instantly settled back into rhythm when he saw the empty pile of straw where the young Hibernian siren had been the night before. He struck his head with the butt of his palm. He’s a farm boy, he reminded himself, the only people in the world who wake up before soldiers.

After a routine check of his horse and men, Seth was offered some ale which he gladly accepted and, finding a set of stairs leading up to the topmost level of the barn, he sat down to enjoy his drink. He seeped in the crispness of the early morning, feeling the pleasant chill on his cheeks after a night in the cramped, sweltering farmhouse.

It was then that he spotted the farmer and his son walking purposefully onto the yard. Both of them carried staffs, the farmer his tall walking stick and the son, a similar instrument but simpler without the gnarled knot on top. The elderly farmer stopped when he reached the centre of the yard, seemingly oblivious to the activity whirring around him as he turned and face his son, who placed his staff on the ground in front of him. Seth’s eyes narrowed, watching this strange behavior when he was suddenly struck by the most profound sights of his twenty-six years in the world.

With one swift, fluid motion, the farm boy grabbed the bottom of his tunic and pulled it up over his head. Seth choked on his ale, coughing the rest of his mouthful out in splutters as he took in the sight of the man’s bare torso. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting, he had noted the taught muscle of the Hibernian’s arms the night before and briefly considered a similar form beneath the tunic, lean with a line or two of definition at least. But this…

The man was like something out of an oil painting; broad shoulders sweeping down from a swan’s neck into a graceful collarbone. Beneath were two of the most wonderfully formed pectorals Seth had ever seen, and this coming from a well-defined soldier himself, who was constantly surrounded by a plethora of fit and healthy men. Two dusky pink nipples, hardened by the cold air, made something stir between Seth’s thighs but the best was yet to come. Stretching from under his pectorals down to the waistband of his breeches was an incredible set of abdominals, each of the six carved muscles as boldly cut as the stones of a cobble road. A small pothole navel marked the centre of this masterpiece as the angle of hip bone lead the muscle in a smooth V down and under the ties of his stockings. On either side, the muscles at his hips swept out and curved back in, a smooth line marking the spot just above the waistband. Seth found himself hating that waistband, wanting to follow the line of those muscles further and further down. Admittedly the breeches were tighter than he had previously noticed, perfectly displaying the mass of his athletic thighs and, Seth noted with glee, the ample rump he sported from behind.

Standing there with his skin as naturally pale as the snow crystals that lined the ground around him, the Hibernian looked as if he had been carved from marble by the great masters, a symbol of handsome masculinity and physical prowess. Seth could hardly believe that such a being could exist outside of art.

He sat, staring, his jaw flopped open foolishly, watching the young man as he bent down to retrieve the staff. The two men stood opposite one another, gazes locked on the other, old, grey eyes facing down the intense blues that Seth was so enchanted by.

The men bowed to one another.

Then their stances changed to one of combat.

Raising his staff defensively, the younger man began to circle the older who kept his glance dead ahead, seemingly unaware of his opponent as he slinked on those silent feet of his to the old man’s back. Seth held his breath, entranced by the scene before him as the siren coiled its way around the unmoving farmer. Without warning, no roar of war, nor rustle of feet, the young man leapt forward, brining his stick down in a fierce arch, meaning to strike the older man across the back. Seth held his breath, afraid that the son would kill his own father when an almighty crack shattered the peace of the early morning.

The blow had been stopped in its tracks. The farmer, still sporting a face of serene calm, had placed his walking stick into the oncoming staff’s path and blocked it effectively. The younger man jumped back and began to circle again, looking for another opening. He leapt, this time aiming for the man’s skull. _Crack!_ A quick motion swooped the stick down to the old man’s legs meaning to brush them from under him. _Crack!_ Another jump back, a few silent paces backwards then the young Hibernian rushed forth, bringing the staff down over his head.

_Crack!_

This time the farmer’s boy paid for his failure. After blocking the move, the farmer pushed back with an incredible show of strength, knocking the younger man off-balance. The gnarled walking stick swept under the younger man’s feet and he fell hard onto his back. The walking stick raised, the farmer brought it crashing down only for the farm boy to deftly roll out of the way just in time. The heavy knot pounded the floor where chiseled flesh and bone had been a fraction of a second before.

Seeing his opponent’s defenses weaken, the farmer went on the attack. He aimed a blow to the head, the younger man managed to duck, a blow to the rib was stopped by the younger man’s staff, another sweep of the legs and he leapt as high as a cat, out of harm’s way.

Seth was having an out of body experience, feeling as if he had stumbled onto some mysterious fairy ritual that no human eye should ever witness. Some irrational part of him was too terrified to make a single sound in case the mythical beings should glance his way and catch him. He wasn’t the only one fascinated with the enthralling display. The two men were starting to gather a considerable audience around them, from the cooks to the healers, even those who had had their slumber disturbed from the sound of thunder coming from the center of the yard had emerged from their tents and stood around the edges, watching on, captivated by the fierce battle fought by father and son.

After a sound block from the farm boy, the younger man found his footing again and joined in the attack. Together, farmer and son lashed out, blocked, retreated, tried again, each with movements as fluid as water, they leapt and crouched, swayed and bobbed. Like some skillfully choreographed dance, set to the silence of the morning with only the cracks of their staffs collided forming any sort of accompaniment. The effort was exhausting, the onlookers could see the growing cloud of hot breath hitting cold air fogging around them, that marble carved chest heaving with the effort and pale skin beading with sweat yet neither of them faltered, refusing to give in.

The youth crouched down low, strong thighs bulging under the thin fabric of his breeches as he clutched the long staff in his weathered hands. He pulled his lips back in a snarl, revealing a row of blunt pearls. Seth felt his heart being squeezed by the sight, a confusing chaos of dread and arousal. What exactly was this creature? This was no mere farm boy.

The young Hibernian stooped and watched and waited as his father spun his stick to his back and on swift feet for his age, sprinted towards him. The young man waited, waited, waited. Like some unholy beast he sprang, smashing his staff right across the front of his father’s mid-drift. The old man gasped as the air was forced from him yet, by some miracle, found enough self-control to pull his staff back and bring it down, right across the temple of his son’s head.

_Crack!_

The ground grabbed at both men. The older man wheezed, stumbling on jelly legs. The youth wobbled on all fours, trying to push himself up to his knees.

He failed. His arms gave way and his tumbled down onto his side. The victor stood tall above him, catching his breath.

The silence regained possession of the morning once more. The onlookers watched, as still and unmoving as trees on a windless day, waiting to see what happened next.

The older man walked over to his fallen son and placed a hand on his shoulder. The young Hibernian shook the cobwebs from his head, and, with a reassuring nod to his father, managed to bring himself up to his knees, leaning on them with his back straight. Head bowed, he offered his stick to his victor, which the older man accepted, in turn, handing his own gnarled staff to his son. Seth narrowed his eyes, pondering at the significance of this gesture as the old man circled his son who sat still and obedient, his back heaving slightly from his panting. The old man laid a finger as knotted as his staff on the farm boy’s temple, where he had stuck the finishing blow. In turn, he found other spots where he had successfully landed strikes, red welts standing out against frost white skin. He discovered four welts in total.

The old man moved to his son’s back, standing slightly off to the side. In response, the young Hibernian straightened his spine, holding his head high, shoulder blades pulling themselves inwards in preparation.

_No_ , the thought crossed Seth’s mind, _he’s not going to-_

The sound of unforgiving wood striking bare flesh wasn’t like the cracks from before - they were more difficult to listen to. Even more difficult was seeing the long red bruises left behind by the cruel blow. Another blow followed and another. The young man ground his lips tightly together, the effort turning them white to match the rest of his handsome face, but he never cried out. Only a grunt of pain escaped his throat as each brutal blow struck his exposed back. Finally the old man completed his punishment and Seth could see the disturbing results on the young man’s back. Four long red stripes, one for each blow the old man had landed on the young Hibernian.

The old man came to his son’s front, staffs were exchanged once more and the farmer extended an arm, helping the young farm boy to his feet. They each bowed politely. Then the weirdest part of the whole ordeal occurred. They smiled. The pair of them actually smiled to each other. The farmer placed an affectionate hand around the back of his son’s neck and pulled him in close, resting their foreheads together in a touching gesture of pride.

What was this, some kind of game? Seth was left lost and bewildered by the entire display, to go from such acts of brutality to one of such compassion was a complete juxtaposition and he couldn’t make any sense of it. His mind tried to piece the two together as he watched the son retrieve his discarded tunic and the pair walked off together out of sight of the crowd. Activity slowly returned to those milling around the farmyard and Seth woke up from his dream. The tumbler of ale was still in his hand and he gulped the final remnants of the strong drink down to shake the last of the fairy spell from his mind.

He heard the loud click of a door opening and turned his attention to the farmhouse, discovering that all four occupants had witnessed the great battle between father and son. Lashley and Rush hurried inside, seemingly unimpressed. McIntyre was grinning like a crocodile, nearly every single one of his white teeth glinting visible in the morning sunlight. Corbin was harder to read, his face pensive and cold, like it usually was, but there was a tension in his eyes, and the way he stood, almost as if he had been cast under the same spell as Seth that made the two-tone haired man wonder.

McIntyre spotted Seth and waved for him to join the officers back in the house. Seth waved back and groggily got to his knees. It was then that he felt the tightness in his breeches, a swelling between his thighs and his face turned as red as his tunic. Pulling his tunic down over the obvious bulge, he gingerly shuffled his way across the farmyard, hoping that nobody else had spotted his shame.

After discussing the day’s itinerary and handling of responsibilities, Seth and his fellow officers went to pass the orders of the Field Marshal on to their men. Seth went off in search of Apollo when the ground began to rumble beneath him, telling him McIntyre was joining him.

‘Seth, lad,’ he slapped his giant paw across Seth’s back, his unwitting strength nearly knocking the air from the junior officer’s lungs. ‘Why so gloomy? Two more days and you’ll be back in your own bed.’

‘Still have a long march over those mountains yet,’ Seth warned the older man.

‘Always the optimist, aren’t you?’ McIntyre teased. Seth could never quite fathom why the large Caledonian insisted on spending so much time with him. The pair rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything and were constantly having wars of words. Perhaps it was their similarity in age or, more simply, that Seth offered more in the way of conversation than the famously taciturn pairing of Lashley and Corbin.

They turned a corner into a quieter spot of the bustling farmyard, heading towards the tents set up in the fields beyond. Seth felt the bear paw tighten its grip and McIntyre leaned in so close his beard bristled Seth’s ear.

‘You see that display earlier?’ McIntyre whispered, unable to hide that crocodile grin.

‘I’ve never seen a sparring match like it,’ Seth said, truthfully.

‘That was impressive too,’ McIntyre chuckled. ‘I actually meant what that farm boy had hidden under his tunic.’

That stopped Seth in his tracks. He hoped McIntyre would chalk the blush in his cheeks down to the bite of the winter chill.

‘I was more focused on the fight,’ Seth lied. Badly.

‘Aye, right,’ McIntyre playfully cuffed Seth the back of the head. It hurt more than it was meant to. ‘Saw that stauner in yer breeches, man. And ken something, I don’t blame ye one bit.’

Seth must have been getting used to McIntyre’s thick Caledonian accent as he caught on to his meaning. He narrowed his eyes and looked up at the hulking man above him, questioningly.

‘We have until the noon-time meal,’ McIntyre answered Seth’s silent query with a grin. ‘I’m going to turn on the old McIntyre family charm. I’ll have that boy on his back screaming my name before then… at least twice.’

‘I thought you were more fond of your busty ladies?’ Seth asks, his tone interrogating.

‘Look at it this way,’ McIntyre smirks. ‘If you’re so-called One God sat and created each of us individually, as your texts claim, then He saw fit to give me one huge donkey cock and then fitted everybody else with a nice warm hole for me to stick it in. To have a preference for one over the other like you do with the lads - if the rumours are to be believed,’ the Caledonian added, knowingly, ‘or Lashley does with the lasses is to experience only one of the boundless pleasures life has to offer.’

‘Dogs have holes too,’ Seth mocked with a piercing tone, masterfully sidestepping McIntyre’s unsubtle probe into his sexuality. ‘So do cows and sheep and horses.’

McIntyre snorted thought his nose. ‘I’d never fuck a horse,’ he played along. ‘Now there’s a beast you must respect. Maybe because they’re the only creature that could give my dick a run for its money.’

The conversation was making Seth feel uncomfortable. He sighed with relief as he spotted Dolph Ziggler, McIntyre’s aide, coming over to enquire about the day’s plans. McIntyre answered with a growl (the pair had always had a shaky relationship and recently it had blown up, resulting in constant fights, both verbal and physical between them – Seth had always figured that Ziggler was jealous that a Caledonian of all things had been promoted above him) and they walked off, snapping at each other like two rabid dogs. Seth was thankful for the peace.

He found his aide, Apollo, and relayed the orders to start packing up in order to leave as soon as the noon-time meal has concluded. Apollo saluted and hurried to task. Seth couldn’t help but smile at how fortunate he was to have such a man by his side. Honest, honourable, efficient. He rarely encountered a man like him these days. Unlike McIntyre and Ziggler, he and Apollo had always had an excellent working relationship and, to some extent, a kinship.

Seth turned to walk back to the yard when he spotted a figure striding away from the farm heading northward. His heart lurched on recognising the stone washed blue tunic under the sheepskin cloak only a few feet away. Suddenly, his free-will was stolen from him, some part of his body took control and he found his feet bounding their way towards the young Hibernian, his hand waving wildly in the air and even his vocal chords betraying him, beckoning loudly for the mysterious being to stop. To his complete and utter horror, the siren heard him and halted, those medusa eyes locking dead onto his. Seth started screamed inside, clawing and scratching as the phantom that possessed his body pushed him closer and closer, feeling like he was rushing towards certain doom. But he was powerless to do a thing as he finally stood before the fairy man, feeling like an utter wreck under those penetrating eyes of his.

‘Can I help you, m’lord?’ the Hibernian asked, politely. A crease appeared between his arched eyebrows. Seth stared at it, feeling light-headed and he suddenly realised he had not said a single word for a solid minute.

‘Uh-um,’ Seth cleared his throat, wondering if the shorter man could hear the pounding of his heart in his chest. The sky-blue gems narrowed, trying to probe into Seth like two sharp daggers, and he was suddenly a little boy again, shivering before strangers, feeling helpless and lost, at their mercy.

‘Can I get you something to drink, m’lord,’ the Hibernian asked, a soft smile on those pink lips. The spell gripped Seth even harder. ‘You don’t look so well.’

Seth struggled to grasp words as they swirled around his head, his lips beginning to move, feeling large and clumsy, they stammered out noises that were barely coherent. His eyes finally settled on the long staff in the farm boy’s hand and his mouth blurted out his thoughts before he could filter them.

‘I just wanted to say’ his haunted tongue burst forth, ‘I’ve never seen anything like you before.’ Seth heard himself and before the Hibernian got the wrong impression he added ‘I meant, the way you fight, earlier, you and the, I mean your, farmer, uh, father.’ He stopped himself completely and took a deep breath, knowing he has made mince meat of this whole ordeal. ‘I was very impressed.’

His cheeks had dyed themselves a deep shade of crimson, almost as red as his tunic and his thoughts were sighing with exasperation, holding their heads in their hands.

The Hibernian though didn’t seem to have minded at all. Those mesmerizing blue eyes lowered humbly and a small smile upturned the ends of those perfectly formed pink lips.

‘Thank you, m’lord,’ he replied and Seth melted at the way he pronounced the beginning of ‘thank’ in his lilting Hibernian accent. ‘I am honoured but I must admit, it was my worst performance in some time. I must not be used to an audience.’

Seth’s body was not done humiliating him. ‘Well, I thought you were amazing,’ he tried to wrestle back some control, ‘I mean, I, speaking as an officer in the Red Army of the Cross, was impressed. You move so quickly and silently, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before.’ He stopped, but grasped desperately for a way to keep the conversation going. ‘Why does your father strike you like that?’ Seth snapped his lips shut, blushing even more from the blunt question.

‘Stepfather,’ the older man corrected, the smile not leaving his lips as a finger absentmindedly rubbed his temple, the red swelling hidden by his mop of oak-smoked hair. ‘I let my guard down,’ he sighed and Seth could feel the weight of the older man’s disappointment. ‘He managed t’land four blows on me while I managed only one. He was telling me that in real combat, any of those blows could be fatal. He was reminding that the enemy is cold and unfeeling and if I lose my grip, I will receive nothing but pain.’

Seth’s ears were caressed by the Hibernian accent; he could listen to the husky way he said ‘those’ or ‘that’ or the way he managed to roll the middle of ‘reminder’, pronouncing it as ‘remoinder’, forever. It added to the exotic nature of the strange creature and was as intoxicating as a strong wine and just as moreish.

‘It sounds like he’s training you up to be a warrior,’ Seth noted.

‘Not quite,’ the farm boy protested. ‘He’s just… preparing me.’

‘For what?’

The Hibernian paused. ‘For when the bad times come.’

Seth found his tongue in knots, not sure how to reply to such a statement. ‘Your… your father, I mean, stepfather, fights well. He was in the army?’

Another long pause and a nervous clenching of the fist. ‘He was… in the King’s army, before the invasion.’

‘Ah,’ Seth nodded, understanding the older man’s hesitancy. ‘He surrendered.’

‘T’was our King who surrendered.’ The bite back was swift and sharp. Seth was stunned to silence again.

The older man lifted his head once more and Seth found himself locked into the gaze of those captivating sky-coloured gems. The wind softly rustled though his hair, the only sound filling the silence between them. Eventually, the farm boy shifted uncomfortably, pacing nervously from foot to foot.

‘I don’t wish to cause you any offence, m’lord,’ he said, hesitantly, ‘but I must really be on my way.’

‘Where are you going?’ Seth inquired and he wished it didn’t sound so much like an interrogation. The farm boy obliged politely though, as always.

‘Some of our ewes have escaped up into the mountains,’ the young Hibernian said and looked over to the great behemoths rising out of the earth before them. ‘I have to get them back before noon-time.’

‘Can I help?’ The question had been asked before Seth even knew he was thinking it.

There was a pause as the Hibernian pondered the request. Seth could see the wariness in the knot of the farm boy’s eyebrows and was reminded of his own words muttered only yesterday. That no matter how polite or accommodating the farmer and his son has been to them, they were still the enemy to these people, the ones who stole their lands and their very freedom.

‘It will be quicker with two.’ Seth couldn’t quite believe that the Hibernian agreed and he looked up into those medusa eyes to make sure it wasn’t just wishful thinking. It was not; there was a soft smile on the farm boy’s lips as he waited expectantly.

‘Great! Well, lead the way’ Seth said, a little too eagerly and clapped his hands together like an idiot. He felt even more foolish when the farm boy refused to budge and stared with those intense topaz eyes. Seth could feel the older man’s gaze pierce through his armour, burn down through skin and flesh and bone to examine his very soul. He’d be as well standing there naked, holding his heart in his hands, baring himself before some god of the dead, awaiting his judgment. For some reason, he was not afraid, in awe perhaps, humbled by the great, ancient deity, but not afraid.

‘What’s the matter?’ Seth asked. His clumsy use of language broke the illusion, on his end at least. The Hibernian never waivered in his gaze and held himself with the grace and majesty of some long-forgotten idol.

‘You can’t go like that,’ the farm boy replied as he pointed a finger at the plated armour on Seth’s chest and feet. ‘We’re heading high into the hills and you’ll need to keep up. Not to mention, that metal clanking will scare the ewes off before we get within fifteen feet of them.’

There was a playful tone to his voice and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Seth liked it. He chuckled in reply as he removed the breastplate before dismantling the greaves and gauntlets, piling up his precious armour neatly. The farm boy pointed to a bush at the side of the barn to safely stash the pile, then, with the wind kissing his bare forearms, his body free under the single weight of his tunic and stockings, Seth headed off after the Hibernian as they escaped up into the hills.

It soon became apparent why Seth was ordered to leave his weighty armour behind. He was by no means an unfit man; he was a junior officer in the Army of the Cross, before that he spent several years in the King’s personal Shield, and had always been blessed with an exceptional level of fitness among his peers. But after an hour of climbing the steep, craggy banks of the mountains at the pace set by the young Hibernian, he was panting like a ragged dog. Determined to keep up, he forced himself to run on legs made of jelly, feeling the sweat leaking from his pores as he tried to catch some breath into his aching lungs.

He’d changed his mind about the Hibernian. He must have been some kind of centaur, or maybe one of those half-man, half-goat hybrids, what did she call them again? Definitely half-goat, the way he leapt across the jaggy terrain, springing up higher with each bound on flighty feet. He never showed any signs of slowing down, not a drop of sweat on his brow, his chest barely heaving with the effort.

‘Satyr!’ he called out. ‘That’s it!’

The namesake stopped and turned, fixing Seth with a furrowed brow. ‘What did you say?’

Seth was positive the red from his face turned purple. ‘Nothing,’ he fired back quickly. He turned his gaze to the ground, trying to find a safe holding to place his feet, knowing they must be somewhere considering how quickly the Hibernian had made his way up there. A hand appeared before him and he followed the curve of the toned muscle up to the warm smile of the satyr. No, not satyr, Seth debated inside himself. The beasts are meant to be unsightly things. Definitely not a satyr!

He accepted the hand and with an admirable show of strength the young Hibernian pulled him up onto the ledge. Seth thanked him for his assistance and the older man nodded his head, respectfully.

‘Let’s rest for a minute,’ the farm boy suggested. Seth thought for a second about pushing on, not wanting to embarrass his manhood, but it was only for a second and he pushed the thought away, flopping down heavily onto the craggy ground, eternally thankful for the respite. He heard the sloshing of water beside him and looked up to see the Hibernian sipping elegantly from a leather canteen. After taking his fill, he offered it to Seth who chugged down a gulp, feeling it gush down his parched throat.

Seth waited for the other man to give the order to move on but he didn’t appear to be in any hurry. The Hibernian stood a metre or so in front of him, one sculpted leg perched up on a rock as he stared out ahead. Following his gaze, Seth’s breath was stolen by the landscape before them. The greenery stretched out like a great jeweled tapestry, pale and shy as it hid behind the growing haze of the day. The hills rolled and bucked playfully, sprouting out forest and field on their backs. If he leant forward, he could just make out the farm far below them, an unassuming patch of grey surrounded by tents of deep crimson. He spied the people, nothing more than dots silently milling between the rows of red like an army of ants tending to their nest. A shimmer to his left caught his eye and he spied the sparkle of the sea as it lapped the shores, a cluster of diamonds rolling out of a plush velvet pouch.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he sighed breathlessly. The older man glanced back over his shoulder; that smile on his lips once more melting everything cold and hard inside Seth’s soul.

‘It is,’ the Hibernian replied, turning his head towards the sprawling world beneath them. Seth noticed something in his tone.

‘You don’t think so?’ he enquired.

There was a pause and Seth feared that he’d offended the older man but he reassured him with a smile. He thinks before he answers, Seth observed, you could do well to learn that.

‘This is my home,’ the Hibernian replied with all the warmth of the hearth back in the farm’s dwelling. ‘It will always mean the world to me.’

‘But…?’ Seth prompted. He was fascinated by this man and he wanted, no, _needed,_ to find out more.

‘I’ve lived and worked here for eighteen years,’ the Hibernian carried on. ‘In all that time, I’ve only ever gone as far as Bray, the village you can see just over there beside the sea.’ He pointed off to the shore and Seth searched for the fishing village Apollo had informed him about. He could just make it out, poking its head over the crest of the horizon hugging the coastline. It was then that he realised how isolated the farm was, how cut off from civilization and all of its pressures. His observation fell back onto the weathered finger of the farm boy and followed the curve of arm muscle as taught as rope until it faded under the rough hewn fabric of the pastel tunic, drinking in the grooves of pale flesh at the back of his neck fluttering into sight behind the sheepskin cloak.

‘Sure, I’ve made friends and danced at the odd party here and there but…’ The Hibernian stopped again, trailing those topaz eyes of his over the sea of green below, looking up, further away as the scenery stretched over the horizon and out of sight. ‘There’s so much of the world I’ve yet to see.’

Seth scoffed.

‘The world is overrated,’ he uttered, a little too harshly. ‘Sure, there are places of beauty and cities so vast and high you can lose yourself in them. There are a thousand and one different cuisines to taste and cultures to master, colours you have never envisioned before in your wildest dreams.’

‘But…?’ the Hibernian mirrored Seth’s earlier query.

‘Everywhere you go,’ Seth spat, ‘is full of people.’

A sudden surge of music invaded his ears and Seth discovered the farm boy was laughing. Not the shy chuckles he’d emitted so far - a loud, genuine laugh. It was his most powerful spell yet and Seth was completely helpless against it, especially when it unleashed its most deadly weapon. 

The Hibernian smiled. Really smiled!

The lips pulled back, revealing two rows of perfect, pearly teeth, the topaz gems softened and his cheeks revealed the largest set of dimples Seth had ever seen. It was even more intoxicating on the eye than the older man’s physique. 

Only just.

‘What’s so funny?’ Seth demanded defensively, even though the grin was already returning to his lips.

‘Well, aren’t you a ray of feckin’ sunshine,’ the farm boy teased through his infectious laughter.

‘It’s true,’ Seth argued.

‘Isn’t that the point of seeing the world?’ the Hibernian asked. ‘To meet all the different kinds of people and enrich your own life through what they share with you?’

The smile faltered. ‘People have a habit of only thinking of themselves. Those who cosy up to you, whisper all the sweet things you wish to hear in your ear, bending you to their will, bathing in your honour and trust before they rip everything you possess away from you. Take, take, take until there’s so little left that you barely even recognise yourself.’ He caught himself. The laughter was gone. The farm boy was staring at him with a look of curiosity and sympathy. Seth pulled his gaze away and turned it instead towards the sprawling landscape. ‘I envy you. You have all of this,’ he gestured to countryside, brimming with nature but little else. ‘All of this… silence.’

Seth felt something strangle inside him. At that moment, all he desired was to stay up there in the mountains forever, locked away from the all-seeing eyes of society, safely under the protection of the mountain guardian standing before him. He wanted it so badly and it ached to know he could never have it. How anyone would want to leave this paradise in search of adventure and glory was beyond him.

He decided to change the conversation quickly. As desperately as Seth wanted to ask exactly how well the young Hibernian could dance, he was more curious about another fact the young man had revealed about himself. ‘You’ve lived here eighteen years?’ he probed, knowing the man was aged one and thirty. ‘Where were you before then?’

The side of the siren’s mouth twitched. ‘My mother was a traveller. I journeyed with her since I was a babe.’

That explains the desire to roam, Seth thought to himself, it’s in his blood. ‘Tell me about her.’

The Hibernian paused again, mulling over his thoughts. There was a tinge of sadness to his warm smile. ‘It’s all a little foggy now. Her hair was dark, like mine, thick and wavy, it reached all the way down her back. She normally tied it up with a red and black scarf.’ He let out a small laugh and Seth felt his insides twist. ‘She was an incredible dancer, and singer. Whenever our troupe rolled into a new town, she would perform for the crowds while I went around with a sack and gathered coins. I remember the music from the accordion, the smell of heather and candied chestnuts.’

The Hibernian’s lilt gave him the air of a bard recounting tragic tales of days gone by. Seth sat, cross-legged, lapping up every word. ‘So what happened? How did you end up here?’

‘I was thirteen,’ the farm boy went on. ‘We got separated from the rest of the troupe. By the time we found the farm we were worn out and hungry. He could have easily turned us away but he didn’t. He let us stay, regain our health, fed us, watered us, clothed us, even gave up his berth for my mother to sleep. He has always been a generous and kind-hearted man.

‘Young and naïve as I was, I thought once we were better, we would leave and try to find the troupe again. I didn’t notice the looks that strayed between my mother and the man who had brought us in from the cold. The way he made her laugh or the way he looked whenever she sang, like he was under a witch’s spell. Not until three months later when they returned from Bray as man and wife did I even twig of there being romance.’

Seth softly laughed at the thought of the teenage Hibernian’s ignorance. ‘What happened to her?’ he asked then wished with all of his might that he could take it back.

A sharp wind tugged on the Hibernian’s hair. ‘She got sick,’ was all he said.

Seth shivered, the heat of the climb having left his body some time ago and the chill sneaking in for the catch. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself when a drape of sheepskin and hide suddenly enveloped his shoulders.

‘Oh no, please don’t,’ Seth protested to the farm boy as he knelt down in front of him to clasp the fastening of the cloak around Seth’s neck. ‘Then you’ll get cold.’

‘These are my mountains,’ the Hibernian reminded him, those hooded topaz eyes mere inches from Seth’s blushing cheeks. ‘I’m used to her chill.’ The cloak was warm yet a shiver still continued to tease his spine. A trembling of a very different nature.

‘That’s half of the morning gone,’ the Hibernian warned. ‘Best be moving.’

No, let’s stay, Seth’s mind pleaded. Stay this way forever.

‘Tell me more,’ Seth urged. ‘Tell me about your travels or your stepfather or why-?’

‘Maybe later,’ the older man said, getting to his feet and offering his arm to help the junior officer up. What had Seth done to make him so shy all of a sudden?

‘There’s won’t be a later’ Seth protested as he regained a vertical base. ‘After the noon meal, we’ll be marching over these mountains back to Dubhlinn.’

The Hibernian’s lips curled into a chuckle. ‘I’m sorry m’lord, but that won’t be happening.’

‘What do you mean?’ Seth asked with furrowed brows.

‘Can’t you smell it?’ the farm boy lifted his face to the heavens, lids closing softly around those brilliant blue eyes as he sniffed the air deeply. ‘Weather’s about to change for the worse. You try to cross these mountains later, you’ll become trapped in snow storms so blinding even I would become lost up here and the ground will become treacherous, especially for the horses.’

‘Are you sure?’ Seth asked, feeling alarm rise in his belly.

‘Why do you think I’m in such a hurry to return these ewes before noon-time?’ the farm boy replied.

Seth spun away from him, loose rocks scuttling from under his feet as he tried to scramble his way back down off the ledge. Before he could jump down, a strong hand clutched his shoulder firmly.

‘Woah! Where are you going?’

‘I have to get back and tell Field Marshall Corbin,’ Seth replied. ‘I have to warn them about the storm.’

‘You promised me you would help me with the ewes.’

Seth turned and shot a fearsome glare at the older man. ‘My men are in danger! They’re preparing to leave and if I don’t do anything to stop them, they’ll march right to their death.’

‘Hey,’ the lilting accent cooed as two hands now held Seth’s shoulders, the grip firmly pressing into his flesh. ‘Breathe, breathe.’ Seth did as he was told, feeling no resistance to the strange being holding him tightly. ‘I don’t wish to be stuck up here on this mountain any more than you. I promise, if you help me first, I will have you back at the farm in time to warn your men.’

‘How can you guarantee that?’ Seth asked, hating how skeptical he sounded right now.

In response, the Hibernian lifted his arm, bending it at the elbow, open palm beckoning towards Seth, who stared at it in bewilderment for a moment before raising his own arm and allowing the farm boy to clasp it securely under his pale fingers. Seth watched as the older man fiddled with something, seeing him unfasten the rope that held his canteen across his chest which he then wrapped several times around and over their intertwined fists. He held the rope taught for a few seconds, closing his eyes and bowing his head in some kind of solemn prayer. Seth looked on quizzically, waiting and watching as the older man finished his strange ritual and finally released Seth’s hand from rope and skin.

‘What was that?’ Seth asked, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his hand where the man’s warm fingers had been seconds before.

‘We call it a Binding Vow,’ the Hibernian explained. ‘It means I can’t break my promise to you.’

Seth nodded silently, standing still as the farm boy wrapped the rope around himself again. ‘And what happens if you do break it?’

‘Then you have the right to kill me.’

Seth’s eyes widened with horror but he soon noticed the glint of mischief was back in the blue eyes. ‘You’re joking,’ he grinned.

The farm boy replied with that same soft smile and a firm shake of the head. Seth felt something heavy inside of him drop. ‘Guess I’ll have to get you back in time then, won’t I?’ Without a backward glance, the Hibernian grabbed his staff and was soon leaping upwards over the rocks.

Seth didn’t need to avenge his Binding Vow as the missing ewes were soon located and the small party began their descent down the mountain, the farm boy masterfully steering the stray sheep with his staff. From behind, Seth couldn’t tear his eyes from the Hibernian’s broad back, watching as, even on the most treacherous parts of climb down, he never once stumbled or slipped.

‘What are you?’ Seth blurted out. He didn’t realise he’d said it out-loud until the Hibernian turned and fixed him with a strange smile. Seth began to feel that same old sting of humiliation, that is, until the Hibernian spoke.

‘What do you think I am?’

Seth was taken aback. So he wasn’t just imagining it; this wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill farm boy after all. He knew it and the strange being knew it and was now taunting him. Seth was surprised to find himself happy to play along.

‘You’re not a centaur or satyr,’ Seth said and the Hibernian’s shoulders shook with a laugh. ‘The way you moved in the yard this morning, I thought perhaps one of the fairy folk, it would explain your grace and elegance. Those eyes though, the way they search deep inside you until they find your soul, they’re so like a medusa’s I’m scared that if I stare too long, I’ll turn to stone.’

‘You know, for a man of the Cross, you know a lot of the old stories,’ the Hibernian noted.

‘My nurse-maid told me them,’ Seth explained. ‘Her father was Anglican but her mother… I forget where exactly but she was from one of the ancient nations. I loved her tales, I would ask for them every night even though they scared me half to death.’

‘They’re meant to,’ warned the older man.

‘I thought you might be a siren,’ Seth went on and the man chuckled again, ‘when I heard you sing last night.’

The laughing stopped and the smile disappeared. Seth saw the topaz eyes widen with fear and the pale skin somehow turn a shade lighter. Seth was confused until he remembered the significance of the man’s song. The language it was sang in.

‘No, no, I didn’t mean-‘ Seth stumbled over his words. ‘I’m not going to report you. I promise. I…’ He swallowed a lump of fear in his throat. ‘I enjoyed it, the song, the way you sang it. It was so… What does it mean?’

The Hibernian was suspicious and he hesitated, unsure how much truth to reveal, already feeling the thin ice cracking beneath his feet. In the end, he had been asked a question by an authority and he had no choice but to answer. ‘I… don’t know. Gaelic was banned by the Cross before I could utter a word. My mother used to sing it and I mimicked the sounds. I’m sorry, m’lord, please forgive me for my error.’

‘I promise I won’t report you,’ Seth implored again, terrified that he had lost the Hibernian’s trust, what little he had accumulated. ‘I would never do something like that, not for something so… so petty and…’ he stopped himself before he made an error too. ‘Do that hand-binding thing again and I’ll prove it to you.’

He lifted his arm up expectantly and waited, his heart thrumming in his chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, the skin on the Hibernian’s face returned to normal and the smile reappeared. ‘No need, I believe you.’ A humble lowering of the head as a breath of relief escaped his chest. ‘Thank you, m’lord.’

‘Seth. Call me Seth.’

The Hibernian looked up. ‘And I’m Finn.’

They shared a handshake and all crimes were left to drift in the mountain air, hidden from the real world far below.

‘You still haven’t guessed what I am yet,’ Finn said, a faint flash of mischief in his eye.

‘Were none of my guesses correct?’

Finn shook his head. ‘There’s still time though.’

He turned and they continued their way down the mountain, Seth’s heart growing heavier with each step as they returned to civilization and their time alone together came to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Caledonian is scorned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bonus Artwork](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/One-Frosty-Morning-829762170) \- the view that Seth saw that frosty morning!

Drew McIntyre was waiting for them back at the farm and he looked ready to strangle a bull. As Seth approached, walking side by side with Finn behind a pack of three meandering sheep, he knew he was in trouble and not just from Corbin.

‘Where the hell have you been all morning?’ McIntyre bellowed. ‘We were about to send out search parties. Thought the Hibee bastards had got ye.’ Seth felt Finn flinch at the slur but he kept his repose and so did Seth.

‘I was only helping out, seeing as these people have been kind enough to let us stay,’ Seth calmly argued his point.

‘Leaving us to do all the work here,’ McIntyre spat back. ‘Field Marshal Corbin called for an officers meeting an hour ago. Get moving.’

Seth nodded curtly and hastily unfastened the sheepskin cloak around his neck, passing it back to Finn with a grateful thank you. The farm boy bowed to both officers before steering his sheep towards an outbuilding, the nasty glare he got from McIntyre not going unnoticed.

‘Just had to sneak your slimy little arse in there first didn’t you, Rollins,’ McIntyre hissed in Seth’s ear as they strode towards the farmhouse. ‘Just couldn’t stand to think I might get there before you.’

‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ Seth countered, picking up the pace to get away from the conversation quicker.

‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ the Caledonian snarled. ‘Just tell me one thing then… was he any good?’

Seth had never felt so relieved to arrive at an officer’s meeting before. He slammed through the door and marched right over to Corbin, preferring to face the wrath of his superior for his lateness than spend one more second discussing Finn with McIntyre. He received his reprimand and then some but the field marshal soon mellowed once Seth shares his news of the storm. The gathering clouds had not gone by Corbin’s notice and he agreed to halt preparations to depart until the true nature of the weather revealed itself.

Before lunch was even served, the snow lumbered down from the heavens, thick and heavy, choking the world in a frenzy of white. At first, it was captivating, pretty even, then the clouds turned grey, the wind picked up and the storm came into full effect. Tents were reinforced, fires were lit and the layers were piled on as men shivered from the bite of the chill, cowering under shelter and blanket to await the fury of the blast.

Seth and the other officers sat warm and snug in the farmhouse, enjoying the glow and heat from the fire while the windows glazed over with frost, leaving intricate patterns between the black wooden frames. Seth’s mind kept thinking about Finn and his father, sleeping rough in the stables, with nothing to cover them but a pile of straw and a sheepskin cloak. Knowing the young man, he would have placed that flimsy drape across his stepfather, a way to repay the kindness of the old man for all those years ago.

By evening, the wind lessened but the snow kept falling, softer this time. The officers had just enjoyed their evening meal, prepared for them by their own men this time. Seth couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that Finn and his father had not come with their stew pot to serve like they had before. Probably too busy looking after their beasts, Seth reasoned, to worry about a few dozen soldiers who have taken over their home.

McIntyre grew restless and began pacing the room with pounding feet. He’d barely uttered a word to Seth since he’d returned from the mountains, which Seth was thankful for, but it was disconcerting. He’d hardly said a word at all and it just wasn’t like him. The tightness of his jaw and the furrow of his brow betrayed the rage that the large man felt. He strode to the window, his feet booming on the floorboards and glanced through the lace of ice to the outside.

‘Storm’s letting up,’ he announced, as if nobody else had noticed. ‘I’m going to go check on the horses.’

Seth felt a weight shift inside of him, a wash of relief as the big man’s towering presence finally left him in peace with his two other stoic companions. It took him a ridiculously long time to figure out the true meaning of McIntyre’s words and panic hit him like a brick to the stomach.

The storm had riled the horses. Finn stayed with them the entire time, whispering calming notions into their twitching ears and stroking his weathered hand down their flanks to soothe their distress. He had a way with the beasts. He could see the intelligence in their eyes (unlike sheep or chickens which were some of the stupidest creatures he’d ever come across) and he’d always felt a connection with them, something ancient and unspoken, as if their minds had been linked through some long forgotten spell. They only had the one horse on the farm, Breandan, a large set, powerful work horse, growing a little long in the tooth (he reminded Finn of his stepfather) so to be here now in the presence of a half dozen military horses, in the prime of their youth, lean and strong, Finn felt completely awed by the creatures.

The night was quiet, the storm had chased all activity into hiding. The soldiers were huddled in their tents or the barn. His stepfather slept in the outhouse with the sheep all while the officers baked nicely by the hearth. He felt a pang of disgust at the thought.

Then the image of the young officer came to him. The one who had joined him up the mountains - he seemed different from the rest somehow. Not that Finn had met many soldiers in all his years living in isolation at the farm, but the few that he had were all proud, arrogant men, who, at best, distrusted him and his fellow Hibernians, and, at worst, blatantly loathed them as some kind of scum to be cleansed. All too busy admiring their own wealth and power to notice the helpless souls they trampled beneath their feet.

But this man, Seth, was different. He spoke to Finn like an equal, even looked up to him, oddly. Seemed interested in his background, his history. And Finn found himself just as intrigued by the man with the two toned hair, the way his shoulders heaved with the weight of the world, the overbearing sadness he carried with him…

Finn shook his head. Dangerous territory, he reminded himself. The officer had said it himself, that there are people who use a person’s good nature to snake their way into their psyche in order to rip it apart. How was this man any different?

The horse beside him grumbled and bucked its long muzzle into Finn’s hand frozen in mid-air, breaking the Hibernian from his thoughts.

‘Sorry big fella,’ he chuckled as he patted the beautiful chestnut coloured stallion. ‘Was I not paying you any attention?’

‘I know how he feels.’

Finn’s skin turned as cold as the ground outside on hearing the strange, booming voice from directly behind him. He started and spun around, finding the brooding hulk of a man he had met the previous night, standing only a few feet away. His eyes narrowed at the Caledonian with long raven hair as he stood there, absentmindedly fiddling with the straps of a bridle hanging on the wall.

‘It’s not a night to be away from the fire, m’lord,’ Finn said, trying to regain his composure after his fright.

‘That it’s not,’ McIntyre agreed, his voice a low rumble in his throat. His hand dropped to his side and he turned his full attention to the farm boy. ‘Are you not cold, young Finn?’

The Hibernian flinched; he didn’t like his name being in the larger man’s mouth. ‘I’m fine, m’lord.’

‘Horses keeping you warm are they, boy?’ It only took three large strides and the hulking Caledonian was at Finn’s side, one bear paw reaching up to brush down the chestnut flank of the stallion. ‘Fine beasts aren’t they?’

‘Beautiful, m’lord,’ Finn replied, retreating a step back towards the horse’s head. He felt it buck against his hand again; a warning this time.

‘Yes,’ McIntyre sighed, a smile of a tiger as it corners its prey on his lips. ‘Beautiful.’ His eyes locked onto Finn’s, the deer caught in the tiger’s sight. ‘You know, Finn, there are other ways to stay warm on a stormy night than just cuddling up to some filthy animals.’

Finn got the impression that McIntyre’s proposal wasn’t much different. Like any prey, he was aware of the danger as it closed in on him. He knew what McIntyre wanted but had no intention of giving it to him. Yet the man was large and strong enough to take it whether Finn wished him to or not. For now, he had to play along, flatter the beast until he could find an opportunity to escape.

Finn put on his sweetest smile. ‘I am aware, m’lord,’ he replied, cocking up a single eyebrow, playfully. McIntyre blinked at the farm boy flirting back but his surprise just as quickly turned to triumph as he switched the charm on even more.

‘Is that so?’ he grinned, bearing every one of his sharp teeth. ‘Tell me more, young Finn.’

‘I remember one eve some years ago,’ Finn’s accent lilting his words ‘after the midsummer’s celebration, a young girl named Aislinn kept me very warm in the barn over yonder. I passed on the favour to a sweet, little thing called Niamh at her cousin’s wedding dance. Had we been caught, her father and five older brothers would have skinned me alive. Then there was Nora, Róisín and Saoirse, all sisters you know, though, not all at the same time, mind you.

‘Then, of course, there was Brigid, a feisty young girl with a head full of fiery locks. She made me a man, right over there in that furthest stall.’

McIntyre’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Right over there, you say?’ he pointed to the far end of the stables. Finn nodded in reply. ‘Interesting.’ McIntyre went over for a closer inspection, turning his back on the farm boy who saw his chance to escape.

Too late! The man had the stride of a giant and in a mere four steps had reached his destination and turned his eyes back onto the young Hibernian. Finn stood in place, ever vigilant for another opening.

‘So this right here is where the young Finn Bálor popped his cherry,’ McIntyre sneered. ‘Tell me something, Finn, speaking of first times…’ he paused to lessen the gap between them. Finn remained where he was, the smile slipping up and down his face as the larger man sidled closer ‘…have you ever lain with a man before?

Finn paused for a moment to gulp down something caught in his throat. ‘No, m’lord,’ he replied, ‘that I haven’t done.’

‘Well, then,’ McIntyre sneered as he ran the back of his finger down the side of Finn’s face. ‘You are certainly in for a treat.’

‘Forgive my ignorance, m’lord but aren’t you a man of the Cross?’ Careful, Finn’s mind flashed red with warning, don’t anger him. Not when he’s this close to you.

‘I fight for the Cross and protect its growing empire,’ the Caledonian confirmed, ‘but I am isle-born just like you with island blood running through my veins. As such, I am willing to overlook some of the Cross’ more… prudish laws.’

The bear paw was now cupping Finn’s entire cheek, his jaw clenched tightly between strong fingers. With his other hand, McIntyre grabbed a fistful of his kilt and lifted it up past his waist to reveal his throbbing manhood beneath, of a size and girth that Finn had only seen on animals of the four-legged variety.

‘Well?’ McIntyre was thrilled with the young Hibernian’s reaction. ‘What do you think?’

‘The stallion behind me only wishes he had such a specimen between his legs,’ Finn flattered the Caledonian. ‘M’lord, I don’t think I could even-‘

‘Shhh,’ the hand released Finn’s cheek and instead placed a single finger on his lips. ‘Don’t be scared, my blushing little Finn. We have all night to prepare you.’ Finn’s heart was ticking away as time was running out. From behind him, the chestnut horse bucked its muzzle into his arm again. A spark went off in Finn’s brain.

‘M’lord,’ he took a step towards McIntyre. ‘I wish to please you. May I do so with my mouth?’

McIntyre’s expression lit up to almost madness. ‘Well now, aren’t you a good boy, Finn.’ The bear paw was in the Hibernian’s hair now, stroking over and down the back of his head. ‘Such a good, good boy. Of course, I will allow you this honour.’

The paw stopped at the top of Finn’s head, fingers gripping his hair so tight he could feel it nearly ripping from his scalp. The palm pushed down, tempting the farm boy to his knees but before his legs buckled, Finn looked up into the tiger’s eyes.

‘May I make a suggestion, m’lord?’

‘You may,’ the hunter beckoned.

‘Close your eyes,’ Finn said. The uncertainty showed in McIntyre’s face. ‘I know it sounds strange but this one girl, Sinead I think it was, insisted I do it and I swear to you, m’lord, it boosted the pleasure a hundred fold.’

‘Really?’ McIntyre cocked his head to the side, tiger eyes boring into Finn’s sky blues.

‘My heart was beating so wildly I thought it would burst from my chest,’ Finn recounted. ‘And as for my…, well, let’s just say it was as if it had been stuffed with gunpowder and set alight.’

A red tongue appeared between McIntyre’s lips, sliding back and forth slowly. As it darted back in out of sight, the slick lips curled up into a feral smile. ‘Ok, young Finn, I’ll play your wee game.’ He gave a dark snigger and closed his eyelids shut. Finn inspected them closely, making sure he wasn’t peeking beneath his thick raven eyelashes, as he softly removed McIntyre’s bear claw from his hair, guiding it to hold up more of his kilt.

It took a couple of seconds but sure enough McIntyre felt the young man’s eager lips, soft as velvet, nuzzling up against his member. ‘Don’t be shy, lad,’ McIntyre chirruped contently. ‘It won’t bite…’ he smirked to himself as he muttered, ‘… yet,’ under his breath.

The farm boy paid heed and soon the whole tip of McIntyre’s mammoth manhood was swallowed up into the Hibernian’s soft, warm mouth. The pleasure leapt through McIntyre’s huge frame.

Dagda’s beard!’ he gasped out. ‘You weren’t lying, boy.’

The farm boy was eagerly sucking now and McIntyre began to pump his hips in rhythm, coaxing more of him into the younger man’s mouth, inch by inch. It was then that he felt a scrape of teeth.

‘Easy up, there,’ he warned the farm boy. ‘We don’t want to damage the masterpiece now, do we?’ The Hibernian wasn’t paying attention as another nip came down on his sensitive skin. ‘Hey! What did I tell you-‘

McIntyre’s eyes sprang open and he squealed out a profanity. In a state of panic, he slapped the horse off of him and jumped back, his manhood cupped safely between his giant hands. The terror of his awakening rapidly lit up into fury.

‘ALRIGHT, YE WEE BAWBAG!’ he bellowed, frantically looking around for any sign of the Hibernian. ‘THINK YER FUNNY, DO YE? JUST YOU FUCKING WAIT UNTIL I FIND YOU!!!’

No luck, the farm boy was long gone. McIntyre looked back at the horse that seconds ago had been munching on his genitals.

‘Fucking thing could have bitten it clean off,’ he squeaked, weakly.

The next morning brought promise the storm had finished, the snow had ceased to fall and instead of grey clouds, the sky was filled with weak sunlight. Seth awoke on the floor by the fireplace and his mind shot to life. He jolted upright and scanned the floor space next to him, his heart sinking as he spied the vacant gap where McIntyre should have slept the night before. He hopped up and over to the window, wiping away the morning frost to spy the stables, a familiar sight as he had spent the majority of the evening watching it after McIntyre’s departure yesterday evening. Nothing had changed, the doors were still bolted shut, keeping all of its secrets inside.

An image of Finn and McIntyre lying naked in the hay came to Seth’s mind, the pale, sculpted form of the Hibernian wrapped tightly by McIntyre’s monstrous arms, pressing the fairy man tighter into his hairy chest. Something curled up in his gut and he batted the thought away. Yet, like a persistent mosquito the image returned to bite him over and over.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ he cursed and pulled on his boots, fastening the ties with hands made clumsy by the cold. Learning his lesson from yesterday, he grabbed his fur-lined cloak and draped it across his shoulders, fastening it at his throat with the metal clasp shaped like flames.

The morning air knocked the wind out of him and he pulled his cloak around him tighter as he trundled across the farmyard. The snow had piled up into drifts so high they almost reached his knees but as he neared the stable doors, it wasn’t the terrain that was slowing him down. He wanted more than anything to wrench open those large door and catch the pair in the act, see the deed for himself, yet something even further, deeper down, was terrified to.

Why do you even care? A voice in his head yelled at him. You met this man only yesterday, you’ve spoken only once. What is he to you? Does it matter if McIntyre got there first?

Seth bobbed his head. It was true, why should he care if the two men had slept together last night. So long as Finn was obliging, he could sleep with whomever he wished. He was a free man, far from the eyes of the world and McIntyre was… a specimen to say the least. Seth could have made his move but he didn’t. He only had himself to blame.

Seth turned away from the stable door and instead, retrieved a flagon of ale from the store and went to sit on the same steps as yesterday, the very spot where he had watched the fairy men dancing in the middle of the yard. He remembered the pale deity, skin as white as the snow that now lined the ground, the notches of shadow carved across his torso. Seth took a deep gulp of ale and tried to forget.

A rustle of movement stirred below him and Seth froze. His hand slowly crept along to the dagger at his belt as something came wriggling out of the hollow beneath the stone steps. It uttered a curse, letting out a cranky grumble.

Seth sheathed his dagger. He heaved with relief, the smile growing on his face as he recognised Finn crawling out of the hollow. Alone!

‘Rough night?’ Seth asked and Finn turned around with a start, wide eyes softening on seeing the junior office on the steps.

‘Just about scared me half to death,’ Finn replied with a rueful grin, clutching his chest in order to calm his pounding heart. ‘You can’t go sneaking up on a guy who’s just awoken. Is that ale?’

Seth offered the flagon to Finn who accepted it gladly and leapt up onto the steps beside Seth. Already, the blush was returning to Seth’s cheeks, his body soaring with glee, making him as giddy as a spring lamb.

‘Is that a normal sleeping spot for you?’ Seth knew he shouldn’t push the questioning so quickly but he had to know. He had to confirm his suspicions.

Finn swallowed his mouthful of ale in small gulps, sloshing the bitter contents around his parched cheeks. ‘No,’ he finally said. He raised the flagon to his lips again and downed the rest of the drink. Seth tapped his foot impatiently, his fists clenching and unclenching. ‘Met your friend last night.’

Seth felt his heart lurch. ‘Which one?’ he tried to pass off coolly.

‘The Caledonian,’ Finn replied.

He was going to make Seth work for this. ‘What did he want?’ he asked, the balance between nonchalant and interested tipping furiously into interested.

‘Something I wasn’t willing to give him,’ Finn answered dryly as he placed the flagon on the step behind them. ‘Think I may have pissed him off.’

‘You were hiding from him,’ Seth nodded towards the hollow under the steps.

Finn responded with a silent nod of his head. ‘Any chance he’s the kind of man who doesn’t hold a grudge?’ Seth pursed his lips. ‘Ah,’ Finn took the hint and lowered his head in thought.

‘He’ll calm down though,’ Seth tried to reassure the farm boy. ‘Though I would stay out of his way for a day or two.’

‘Oh, I intend to,’ Finn retorted with a sharp laugh. He leaned back, basking in the weak glow of the early winter sun with his hands behind his head. ‘What about you? Did you have a rough night?’

It was as if he could read his thoughts. What was this strange creature?

‘It was… ok,’ he answered unconvincingly. He could feel the sky blue eyes staring at him, trying to make him elaborate. Seth wrestled with his thoughts. He had just scolded himself this very morning for holding back, for not taking his chance when it was presented to him and yet here he was again, that opportunity to bare his soul to this mysterious being and he was still fighting it. What was wrong with him?

‘Still trying to figure out what I really am?’ Finn broke into a cheeky grin, the wide kind that crinkled his eyes and dimpled his cheeks. Seth’s felt his heart, cold and hard as it normally was, growing warm at the sight.

‘A sun god,’ he gasped out breathlessly and Finn couldn’t hold back his laughter.

‘Flattering but no,’ he smiled. ‘Here’s a clue. I’m not one of your ancient world myths. To find out my true nature, you’ll have to look to the Hibernian lore.’

‘But I don’t know any Hibernian tales,’ Seth protested sadly.

‘Then get studying,’ Finn nudged him playfully and Seth lowered his head to try and hide his beaming cheeks.

He felt a shuffle at his side and before he knew it, the siren was gone. Disappeared into thin air. His heart ached with hurt at first until he heard the lumbering footsteps approach from the yard. Looking up, he found McIntyre in a disheveled state, his hair was flaring out on all sides and matted with straw, his bleary eyes burdened with dark circles. He carried an empty cask of ale in his claw, which told Seth he had spent the night relieving the receptacle of its contents in the stables. By himself, he added smugly.

‘Rollins,’ McIntyre growled.

‘Morning McIntyre,’ Seth returned politely.

‘Seen that farm boy of yours today?’

There was poison dripping from every word that the Caledonian uttered. Seth saw the tautness in McIntyre’s jaw, how the teeth were stubbornly clenched together, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet. Finn, he thought to himself, what on God’s green earth did you do to piss him off so much?

‘I haven’t,’ Seth replied, carefully, ‘and, again, nothing happened between us yesterday. I helped him retrieve some sheep and that was-‘

McIntyre lunched in close, grabbing a fistful of Seth’s cloak. The junior officer recoiled at the ale-soaked stench of the Caledonian’s breath. ‘Tell that little shit that if he pulls a stunt like that again, I’m going to rip his balls off and feed them to the crows.’

Seth was released and McIntyre began to hobble off when a thought occurred to him and he turned to face Seth once more. ‘Your horse the chestnut stallion?’

Seth’s brows furrowed together. ‘No, the grey speckled mare.’

McIntyre nodded and left with no explanation as to his bizarre question.

Finn made good on Seth’s warning and wasn’t seen for the remainder of the day. As much as Seth was relieved about this, it also had a bittersweet edge. The farm boy may have been safe from McIntyre’s wrath but it was at the expense of Seth spending more of his limited time with the Hibernian. The day became another generic routine of drills and orders, meetings around the fire and marches in the cold without any pleasant distractions or spark of magic to ease his ennui.

McIntyre kept his distance too, much to Seth’s relief and it was only when the afternoon settled into evening and Corbin called his officers into the farm house for another meeting that Seth finally saw the hulking behemoth face-to-face since that morning. The day had done nothing to diminish his temperament; in fact, the raging hangover he was suffering from only added fuel to his fury. He sat, crease lined brow in his hand and a scowl on his face, giving Seth a look that could kill as he took his usual spot by the fire.

‘Did you send my message?’ McIntyre growled but before Seth could answer, Corbin stood to his full, towering height.

‘The storm last night was poorly timed,’ he said in his usual sharp tone. ‘It has delayed us but with any luck, only for a day.’

‘We march over the mountains tomorrow?’ Lashley asked, clearly pleased to be moving on. Other than checking on his troops once or twice, Lashley had never left the warm sanctity of the farmhouse, instead sending his aide Rush to relay his orders.

‘No,’ Corbin sighed with frustration. ‘Even though the snowdrifts have shifted slightly today, the mountains will still be too treacherous. I have spoken to the old farmer and he suggested we travel to the fishing village on the coast. There we could pay some local fishermen to sail us over to Dubhlinn. I plan to leave come morning.’

All three officers confirmed their understanding.

‘We’ll have to ready the men tonight, sir,’ Seth noted and Corbin agreed, dismissing his officers to begin preparations. McIntyre, for a moment, looked as if he were making a beeline for the junior office before changing his mind abruptly and heading off in the direction of his troops’ camp. Seth decided it best to do the same when the wind heaved up, ripping through tunic and armour like a sharpened rapier. He tugged his cloak in tight around him, shivering against the harsh elements of the night. To his right, the stone steps loomed in the shadow and Seth’s mind immediately thought of Finn. First, the farm boy had been turfed out from his warm abode now he had even been chased away from his stables to sleep rough, exposed to the elements.

Pulling his legs through the deep snow, Seth reached the stone steps and checked the hollow beneath. Empty. He may have found somewhere else to sleep, Seth supposed, somewhere warmer and more sheltered. But in case he hadn’t…

Seth whipped the cloak from his shoulders, unable to force down the painful shiver as the frosty air cleaved right through him, and wrapping it up into a bundle, shoved it into the hollow. It wasn’t much but it was something and it was the most he could do for him at that moment.

Seth wandered off to find Apollo and the rest of his men.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal ends tragically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been overwhelmed at the amount of love Flint and Steel has recieved so far - and we're only four chapters in! A huge thank you to each and every one of you who have read, kudo'd, subscribed or commented. To show my appreciation, have a fanart of [Officer Drew McIntyre.](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Officer-Drew-McIntyre-830310345)

Everything was set for the departure come morning and as the sun rose on the new day, the troops were buzzing around the camp like a swarm of bees, readying the final preparations. Seth, his aide Apollo having ensured everything was well in hand, had been given the honour of fitting Corbin’s armour. The Field Commander had refused to appoint a personal aide like his fellow officers. It was a typical example of his solitary nature; he did not like to engage in conversation, he did not have time for companions or friends and was the standard wallflower at every social event held among the high society he kept. In keeping with his family crest, he had been given the nickname of the Lone Wolf, a moniker he was only too happy (if he even possessed the capability of being happy) to live up to.

No words were exchanged as Seth tightened the straps holding Corbin’s breast and back plates, silence followed as he applied pauldron, vambrace and gauntlets, not even a glance from the field marshal as cuisse and greaves were attached. Seth walked over to the table and picked up the great helm plumed with crimson feathers with two hands, feeling the incredible weight of the steel as he brought it to his superior with a bowed head.

‘That will be all, Rollins,’ Corbin said as he accepted his helm. Rollins gave a respectful nod of the head and was about to leave when his commander spoke. ‘Find the farmer. I wish to talk with him before we leave, then ready the men to depart on my signal.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rollins replied before he left the toasty interior of the farmhouse. He had barely shut the door when he found the object of his quest. The farmer and his stepson were at their daily battle once more, staffs clattering together as the crowd of soldiers who had time to spare watched on. Even with the frosty winter air, Finn had shed his tunic again, his perfectly formed torso twisting Seth’s innards with shy delight. Seth leant against the wall of the house, hidden partly by the shadows and allowed himself to indulge in the sight before him. His eyes wandered over every curve and groove of Finn’s physique, drinking in the bow of his shoulders and bulge of bicep, the line of each individual abdominal, the brazen arch of hip as it curled into his breeches, the rippling of his back muscles under skin lined with the marks of punishment from two days ago, now nothing more than faint streaks of pink. The strong, calloused fingers of his weathered hands, the pertness of his nipples, the promise of additional beauty under the brown fabric of his breeches. Seth scanned every single part of him, creating a mental picture of this moment in his head that he could carry with him like a token around his neck. Time may wear on, his mind may fade but he vowed to remember this man, this creature of physical perfection, of warming laughter and radiant smile, of grace and of intelligence, but most of all, of mystery for as long as he lived.

The clash came to an end. The old man victorious again as he loomed over Finn, his boot on the young Hibernian’s naked chest and the end of his staff at the farm boy’s throat. Finn must have gotten used to his audience though as not a single blow landed on him this time. No wonder he had been so disappointed by his performance two days ago.

A hand was offered from the farmer to his stepson to help him to his feet. The pair bowed as per their routine and Seth could see the small beads of sweat on Finn’s forehead, the smile about to burst from his lips.

‘I’m going to finally beat you, old man,’ Seth could just hear Finn’s lilting accent on the wind. ‘It’s coming soon, I can feel it.’

‘Then that will be the day you are ready,’ the former solider beamed, clasping a strong hand on his stepson’s shoulder. ‘And I will be so proud.’

‘HEY!’ A rumble of thunder roared through the air, breaking up the touching scene. Seth turned his face towards the commotion, something catching in his throat as he spotted the gruff figure of McIntyre making his way towards Finn and his stepfather. His lips were drawn down in a nasty scowl and fire was raging in his eyes.

‘Can I help you, m’lord?’ the farmer asked, taking a step towards the fuming Caledonian.

‘You!’ McIntyre pointed a titanic claw right at Finn, ignoring the old man standing between them. ‘You and I have a score to settle, _boy_.’

‘M’lord, I-,’ the farmer tried to halt the behemoth but McIntyre shoved him aside.

‘Keep out of this, old man,’ he bellowed at the farmer before turning his attention back to Finn. ‘Think you’re so clever, do ye? Think you’re tough? Then prove it. Fight me.’ He pointed at the staff in Finn’s hand. The Hibernian kept his topaz eyes locked onto the giant Caledonian, his lips tightly clenched together.

‘What? You scared?’ McIntyre taunted. ‘You’re a coward now too? I see, so you only fight decrepit old peasants, too chicken to face a real man for once in your life.’

Finn’s face scrunched up, trying to hold back the anger and remain calm. ‘Alright,’ he bit through pursed lips. ‘I accept.’

McIntyre sneered mockingly at Finn as he held out his arm to the old farmer. Finn and his stepfather shared a glance, the younger man nodding to reassure his concerned mentor as he handed his gnarled walking stick over to the Caledonia. McIntyre clasped the weapon eagerly between two giant paws and licked his lips as he faced Finn, the younger man already beginning to circle him.

Seth felt his heart pounding in his chest as the scene unfolded before him. Finn was quick and agile, but a fraction of the size of McIntyre’s imposing bulk. The Caledonian had incredible power on his side, a strength unrivalled by most of his peers in the army of the Cross and was deceptively fast for a big man. Finn, found this out quickly as McIntyre struck first. Waiting for the farm boy to circle to his back, McIntyre spun around and slammed the heavy knot of the walking stick hard onto the ground. Finn only just managed to dodge the blow and the giant fissure in the ground, left in its wake. McIntyre wasn’t finished and he went for the younger man again. Finn rolled and ducked, McIntyre’s attempts missing him by a whisker each time. Finn tried for some offence and went to sweep the legs out from under the Caledonian but McIntyre blocked Finn’s staff with his own. McIntyre went for a shot but Finn blocked him this time. Both men locked up, staff against staff, pushing back against the other with all their might, teeth clenched and brows beading.

There was only going to be one winner and with a great thrust, McIntyre pushed Finn back with such force the younger man fell onto his back. The officer of the Cross had no mercy for the fallen man and began raining down blows onto the Hibernian, Finn using both hands on his staff to block the heavier weapon’s momentum before it struck skin, flesh and bone. The great cracks of the wood biting one another reverberated around the farm, as loud as canon-fire, each sound frightening Seth’s heart up into his throat. If McIntyre landed but a single one of them it would surely snap a bone or crush a limb, pulverize a rib cage or smash a skull. Seth’s clasped his hands together in prayer, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned white.

McIntyre was growing impatient and threw back his club to unleash a powerful blow. Finn, seeing the break in the onslaught at last, used the respite to roll out of the way and back up onto his feet. McIntyre’s changed directions a fraction of a second after Finn, catching the young Hibernian by surprise, and smacking him clean on the lower arm. The younger man let out a cry as his staff fell from his grip. Seth pounced up onto his feet, his fingers entangling themselves in his hair and gripping tightly.

Now weaponless, Finn had no choice but to focus on defense but McIntyre could smell the blood in the water. Brandishing the stick like a club, he swung it to and fro, forcing the Hibernian to bounce back again and again. Finn’s momentum stopped with a thud as his bare back slammed against the wall of the stables. He stole a glimpse behind him at the very moment McIntyre went for another blow. The farm boy sprang down to all fours, feeling the breeze of the club whistle through his hair before an almighty smash blared above him. Splinters of wood plummeted down onto him from above, the shreds of a gaping hole in the wall from McIntyre’s blunder. Finn stared at it with urgency; this man was not playing around.

Never mind trying to fight, Seth tried to channel his thoughts to the Hibernian, just run.

The Caledonian was like a man possessed, wayward blows missing the swift farm boy and instead smashing through wooden wall, cask and barrel. Onlookers yelled out profanities as his attempts nearly took out his own men. But the berserker didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back once at the path of destruction he was carving, he only had eyes for his prey and he was going to feast tonight. Finn was darting right and left, always a step ahead of his relentless pursuer but Seth could see the way his chest heaved with the exertion and knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

A foot from a careless onlooker stuck out and Finn tripped, landing hard on the frozen ground. He was breathing heavily now, the breath from each frantic pant misting in the air. McIntyre was feeling the strain of the brawl as well, his long hair matted against the sticky skin on his red face, but he saw his victory in sight and the adrenaline pushed him on.

‘I have you now, boy,’ he roared as he stood tall over Finn’s fallen form, his club raised high above his head. He brought the gnarled end of the staff down with a bellow. Finn rolled onto his shoulder and the club just glanced past him into the earth. McIntyre thundered with frustration and brought another blow down. Finn dodged by rolling onto his other shoulder. Now, McIntyre was reaching fever pitch, his face turning a deep shade of purple. This time, he wouldn’t miss. He swung the club back over his head as far as it would go.

Finn struck first, pummeling both of his feet swiftly onto McIntyre’s knee. A great crunch erupted from the joint and McIntyre screamed out it gave out under his weight. As subtle as a ghost, Finn had managed to roll back and onto his feet, barely getting to a vertical base before he leapt high and kicked with both feet right into McIntyre’s face. The blow rocked the larger man but he did not go down.

Finn was in control now and, taking several paces back, he bolted towards the hulking Caledonian on his swift, silent feet and took to the air. Seth swore it was as if wings had sprouted from his rippling back as the farm boy soared past McIntyre, wrapping one leanly muscled arm around the Caledonian’s throat before he magically twisted in the air across the larger man’s back to bring his other arm around his raven head. The bewitching move was devastating, and McIntyre fell like a great tree struck during a storm. His skull cracked against the solid surface of the farmyard. He groaned out but his resolve was not beaten yet. He still held the club tightly in his arms.

However, Finn had one last arrow in his quiver. Taking another, longer run up, he mounted the wind as if it were some mighty stallion, riding it with all the familiarity of rider and steed as he brought his knees up to meet his chest, the air lifting him high before powering him down to meet his target. His booted feet found McIntyre’s rib cage and crashed on them with the power of a morning star, stealing all of the wind from his opponent’s lungs. McIntyre gasped out, the staff fell from his paw. The Hibernian moved with the speed of Hermes and the fight was over; Finn standing tall over the fallen McIntyre, one foot on the Caledonian’s chest and the stolen staff at the larger man’s throat. A perfect reenactment of his stepfather’s victory moments before.

Inside, Seth was cheering wildly, clapping and whistling for the victor.

In reality, the entire compound had ground to a halt. Silence rang like a chime of doom. The troops stared in scorn at their fallen comrade and heated contempt for the upstart farm boy who had beaten him. Finn’s stepfather immediately felt the tension and went to his stepson’s side to gently pull him off from his defeated foe.

‘This is horse shite!’ McIntyre snarled from the floor. ‘I had him! I-‘

‘You lost,’ the farmer informed him sternly as he took his staff from Finn and, placing his gnarled hand on his stepson’s back, began leading him away from the center of attention. They barely made five paces when McIntyre screamed out again.

‘I GET TO STRIKE HIM!’ The pair stopped and turned to face the hulking brute as he yanked himself up onto his shoulder. ‘I landed a blow. On his arm, see the bruise. I get to punish him, just like you did the other day.’

The old farmer went to protest when Finn stopped him, placing a weathered hand on the old man’s arm. The farmer looked at his stepson with pleading eyes but soon nodded in defeat.

‘You landed one blow,’ the farmer told McIntyre in a warning tone. ‘You may strike him _once_.’

‘I know,’ McIntyre sneered viciously as he grabbed the staff that Finn had dropped earlier in their bout, brandishing the weapon with gleeful malice. ‘Get over here, boy.’

Finn glared back at McIntyre with a look that could kill, the topaz eyes as sharp as daggers as he strode towards the Caledonian, not a sign of fear in his step.

‘On your knees.’ The larger man took great delight in issuing the order, licking his lips as the young Hibernian complied. McIntyre leant in close. ‘Wasn’t so hard was it? That’s all you had to do the other night. Would have saved you the world of pain I’m about to give you.’

Seth watched on, his throat clenched so hard he was afraid he would choke, as McIntyre slowly moved to Finn’s back, swinging the staff nonchalantly back and forth. Finn straightened his spine, his chin raised defiantly, awaiting his punishment with all the dignity he could muster.

The blow came from out of nowhere and the sound of solid wood hitting flesh echoed in the silence. It had been a brutal hit; far worse than any dished out by Finn’s stepfather the other day and would leave a nasty bruise that would bubble for a week or two. But Finn had survived it and didn’t even cry out in pain at the blow to his exposed back.

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ McIntyre waved his hand in protest. ‘I stumbled, I didn’t do it properly.’

‘You only get one strike,’ Finn’s stepfather ordered the larger man.

‘One more try, that’s all I’m asking,’ McIntyre’s tone was marinated in sarcasm.

‘Go ahead.’

The voice was strong and steady. McIntyre looked down at the speaker and shook his head wryly at the farm boy. ‘You really want to piss me off don’t ye, boy?’

‘Do it,’ Finn replied and straightened his back once more.

McIntyre let out an ear-splitting roar and landed a ferocious blow, somehow even more brutal than the last one. The power behind it was so great that Finn fell forward, catching himself on one arm but still he didn’t cry out. McIntyre wasn’t done, however, and he raised the staff high again.

Seth had seen enough and went to put a stop to the cruelty when a strong hand gripped his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to find his superior, Corbin, standing behind him, sun glinting off the steel of his plate armour, his cold eyes watching the scene unfold before them. Seth felt a shiver run down his spine. He had no choice but to stand and watch as McIntyre landed another crunching blow on Finn’s back.

McIntyre was enjoying himself, free at last to play with his helpless victim. He went to Finn’s front and crouched down before the Hibernian who had slumped to his elbows. ‘Look at me,’ McIntyre spat. Finn didn’t move quickly enough for his liking and he grabbed him roughly by the jaw. ‘I said, look at me.’ Finn glared back with bold, blue eyes, forcing down all the agony he was feeling. ‘Did you think yer wee joke the other night was funny, huh? Not so fucking funny now, is it? You are going to pay for your disrespect, you filthy little Hibee bastard.’ McIntyre leant in, his lips brushing the skin of Finn’s ear. ‘All I wanted was to hear you scream my name and I’m not leaving until I hear it. You understand me, boy?’

McIntyre let go of Finn’s face and returned to his back. Already the bruises were burning marks into the Hibernian’s pale flesh. ‘Get up!’ McIntyre grabbed a fistful of Finn’s dark brown hair and pulled him upright just to smack the stick across his shoulders and send the smaller man crashing back to the ground. The blows came thick and heavy then, each one sending a shudder through each of the onlookers, Seth in particular. He watched on, his blood freezing into place, as the punishment became a full on beating, seeing the red welts growing over Finn’s back and shoulders. As the farm boy lifted his arms up to protect his head, they too became battered and bruised.

‘Field Marshal, this is cruelty,’ Seth pleaded to his superior. ‘Please, you have to stop it.’

Corbin said nothing.

‘These men have done nothing to us. This is undeserved!’

Corbin remained unmoved.

‘Scream for me, boy!’ McIntyre ordered, as spittle came flying from his lips. Finn’s resolve was breaking and he was no longer able to repress his cries of anguish as the sadistic onslaught carried on without mercy. ‘My _name_ , boy! SCREAM MY NAME!’

‘McIntyre!’

It wasn’t Finn who had cried out. It was a deep, commanding voice. It instantly halted the Caledonian in his tracks. ‘That’s enough,’ Corbin ordered his officer. McIntyre was furious. He hadn’t gotten the result he wanted but he knew better than to disobey a direct order from his commander. With a grunt, he threw the walking stick at Finn, which hit him harshly between his bruised shoulder blades and spat on the beaten down farm boy before he marched past Corbin and into the farmhouse.

Seth felt the hand release his shoulder and knew he had permission to go help the injured Hibernian. He made a dash for Finn but his stepfather got there first. As Seth approached, the farmer raised his stick up to keep the junior officer back.

‘Stay away,’ he warned Seth. ‘Haven’t you people done enough?’

His words felt like a sword through his heart. He lowered his head in shame and took a step back, his soul breaking as he heard Finn gasping out in pain as his stepfather helped him to his feet. Seth couldn’t look at him, knowing he had allowed McIntyre to inflict such brutality on him. Seth’s eye caught a flash of something stone-washed blue and bent down to pick up Finn’s discarded tunic, neatly folded by the side of the barn.

‘Finn?’ he coyly approached the two men, offering the tunic by means of apology but before the farm boy could respond, his stepfather snatched the tunic roughly from Seth’s grasp and marched off, shielding his stepson with his cloak as they departed. Seth watched them leave, feeling the guilt spill into his lungs, drowning him.

‘Rollins.’ He turned to see Corbin beckoning him into the farmhouse too. Seth bowed his head, knowing that McIntre would not be the only one getting a tongue lashing from their superior.

‘I will hear no more about farm boys. Need I remind the pair of you that you are officers of the Imperial Army of the Cross, those chosen to represent our King and our Emperor and their collective glory? To uphold their righteousness and celebrated lineage. Yet here you two are, fighting like street dogs over a farm boy of all things.’

Corbin didn’t yell; he didn’t need to. Every word he uttered was as shrill as an icy wind and cut the skin just as deeply. Seth and McIntyre both looked like scolded children, their heads bowed and shoulders slumped as they received their commander’s disapproval. Lashley and Rush looked on, Rush unable to hide his smug smile as the two officers were disciplined.

‘This ends now, is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Seth and McIntyre sounded in unison.

‘Good,’ Corbin said. ‘McIntyre, go ready your men. Rollins, did you tell the farmer I wish to see him?’ He heard the stutter in Seth’s voice and rolled his eyes with exasperation. ‘Get out of my sight.’ Seth did as he was told without hesitation.

Corbin slumped into the chair by the fire, his armour creaking under his weight. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. ‘Lashley, I trust you can still do your duties.’

‘I am at your disposal, sir,’ Lashley replied, his scowl softening ever so slightly.

‘Good, go find that farmer for me and bring him here,’ Corbin ordered. As the heavily muscled man and his aide left his presence, Corbin let out a heavy sigh. ‘The sooner I get away from this swamp of an island the better.’

Seth, much like his men, was at a loose end, all ready to depart and just awaiting the signal from his commander. He decided to make himself scarce in the meantime, not wanting to come across his fuming superior or McIntyre. He chose a hiding spot around the back of the barn, still within earshot of the camp but away from any prying eyes. He was not alone though, his thoughts were crowding him, yelling and tugging at him, bringing back flashes of what had transpired a few short moments ago. He had wanted to remember every part of Finn, his beauty and grace, but now that image had been tarnished by the gruesome sound of his skin breaking apart and his cries of pain.

A creak sounded to his left. He leant forward and saw a gate to an outbuilding open. The immediately recognizable figure of Lashley walked out from the shed followed by the old farmer, clearly unhappy as he marched away with the officer. Seth watched them leave then turned his glance back to the outbuilding where he knew they kept the sheep in the cold months. If the farmer had been there, Finn must be there too. Seth knew he should stay away, that he had caused enough trouble for the Hibernian, but the temptation to see him and to try and make things right was too strong. Slowly, he edged his way towards the shed, making within five feet of the structure before he changed his mind.

As he turned to leave, the gate creaked again and standing before him was Finn himself, his back turned to Seth as he stared out over the white covered fields surrounding the farm. Seth’s eyes immediately travelled to Finn’s back and although most of his wounds were now covered by his tunic, he could still spy the nasty streaks of red and purple across the rear of Finn’s arms. Unable to stop himself, he gasped at the sight and Finn spun around.

‘I’d prefer to be alone right now,’ Finn uttered before Seth could say a word.

‘Ok, I understand,’ Seth nodded in defeat, ‘but… before I go, I just wanted to say that… I should have done something, I should have stopped him, I could have-‘ The topaz daggers were stabbing into his chest again and he was too weak to fight back. ‘I didn’t want to leave without saying I’m sorry.’

The blue eyes softened and the slightest of smiles came to Finn’s lips. He gave a small motion of the head, a beckon for Seth to come with him. Seth raised an eyebrow but followed all the same. As Finn began to move, he winced, hobbling as his body disturbed the wounds on his skin. Seth went to aid the Hibernian but he gently pushed him away, not out of frustration but out of pride. Finn wanted to walk unaided on his own two feet.

The journeyed together, side-by-side, walking in silence with only the odd grimace from Finn until they reached a small nook near the base of the hill, where a huddle of trees solemnly stood guard. Finn signaled for Seth to stop and kept on walking under the canopy of trees. It was then that Seth spotted the curved stone rising out of the ground, nestled against the slope of the hillside. He watched on as Finn, with a mighty effort, lowered himself to one knee, the nest of brown hair bowing out of sight.

Seth heard the Hibernian utter ‘mother’ and ‘sorry’ before he realised this was a conversation he was not meant to overhear and shut the rest of it out. As a former member of the King’s Shield, he was accustomed to standing guard, ever aware of oncoming danger, while being able to turn a deaf ear to the private conversation the King and his associates may have.

He stood in silence for several minutes until Finn creaked back up to his feet and turned his head slightly over his shoulder. Seth understood the gesture and hesitantly walked towards the grave, wincing at every clank of his plate armour, wishing that the bulky steel would pay its respect. Finn, though, barely seemed to notice as Seth clanged up next to him, the Hibernian’s gaze only seeing the grave at his feet. Seth took in the sight too. The stone was simple and bore no inscription, a common feature of peasant graves, if they were fortunate enough to afford a gravestone at all. It showed little wear of weather, clearly well cared for and tended. No moss lined its face and any animal droppings had been carefully cleaned off. At its base, Seth could make out the last flowers of summer that, in spite of the protection the trees above gave them, were starting to die, their petals crisping up at the edges. From a glance around him, Seth imagined this whole grove came awash with the colour of wild flowers in the summertime, each one lovingly planted to honour the beauty of the woman both men on the farm had cherished.

‘I held her hand in the end.’ Finn’s voice was small, barely above a whisper, but not weak. ‘I grasped it so tightly, somehow thinking, in the haze of my grief, that if my grip was strong enough she wouldn’t leave me, that Death would never be able to take her away. Then she whispered my name, I looked at her and she was smiling. She said it was ok to loosen my hold. She was ready to meet Her.

‘She passed on the night before I turned eighteen. I kissed her cold cheek and felt the tears well in my eyes. My stepfather placed a hand on my shoulder and said ‘son, you may grieve for her tonight but come tomorrow you will be a new man and the world is cruel. You must never show it your weakness again’.’

Seth looked towards Finn and sure enough, his eyes were dry as bone. But he was not unemotional, not like Corbin was. He could see it in the tension of his body, the tautness of his jaw and the downward arch of his brows. He could see all the pain, the grief and the sorrow he felt at his mother’s grave but to openly cry was to expose his throat to the wolf. Seth wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, clasp his shoulder, bring their foreheads together, any kind of physical contact to comfort the older man but he respected the solemnity of the moment and chose a confession instead.

‘My mother died giving me life,’ he said and finally Finn turned his eyes to him. ‘I have no recollection of her, not even a drawing of what she looked like. I never knew my father and I had no other family to tell me of her – her charms and her talents, her past and her dreams for the future. After I was orphaned, I was stolen away.’ Seth tried to smile but the pain inside him was too strong. ‘You are lucky to have known her, to know what traits you inherited from her, to have shared the moments of your life together. She held you close, she sang you songs.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘When you come from nothing, when you know not of your lineage, your heritage, it leaves you feeling… hollow.’

It was Finn that broke the ban of contact. Seth felt the warm fingers reach out and link with his own, sending a burst of heat through his cold heart, like a spark from flint and steel in the middle of a cold, barren wasteland. They stood hand-in-hand, silent as the grave before them, lost in their thoughts and their shared grief, Seth feeling for the first time in so long that he wasn’t alone.

Finn tightened his grip on Seth’s fingers. ‘Come on, we need to be getting back,’ he sighed and Seth felt his heart heave back into the frost. ‘Or else your men will leave without you.’

The grip loosened then fell away completely.

‘Sir, I have brought the old man.’

‘Thank you, Lashley,’ Corbin replied. ‘That will be all.’

Corbin sat, staring into the dying embers of the fire, his finger absentmindedly rubbing back and forth against his lips, his mind whirring unseen behind cold, stone eyes.

‘M’lord?’ the farmer behind him asked with a hint of impatience.

‘Yes, please sit,’ Corbin offered the farmer the stool. The old man hobbled over, his walking stick thudding against the floorboards as he sat, a guest at his own fireplace. ‘I wanted to extend my apologies for the incident this morning.’

The farmer visibly stiffened but kept his calm repose. ‘I trust the man responsible has been punished?’

‘He will be,’ Corbin said stiffly. The farmer shifted in his stool, clearly displeased with the vague response. ‘How is the boy?’

‘My son is strong,’ the farmer said, pride in his tone. ‘The wounds will fade, the pain ease but the lesson will have been learned.’

‘Hmm,’ Corbin thrummed back, flatly.

‘Now, if I may, m’lord,’ the farmer went to stand. ‘I wish to tend to him now.’

‘Stay,’ Corbin commanded in a pitch not to be disobeyed. ‘There is more I wish to discuss.’ The farmer settled back down, both hands clasping his gnarled staff nervously. ‘You have served me and my men well,’ Corbin continued. ‘You have shared your home, your local knowledge and your supplies. The Cross thanks you.’

‘I will always help the weary traveller, m’lord,’ the farmer bowed his head.

‘Hmm,’ Corbin replied curtly. ‘By means of recompense I wish to give you this.’

He picked up a small but heavy velvet sack and handed it over to the old farmer who peered inside. ‘M’lord, you do me a great honour but I cannot on good conscious accept this. It is too much.’

‘My men have left you with the bare minimum you need to survive the winter,’ Corbin pointed out. ‘This coin will aid you as needed in the harsher months.’

‘But this amount far surpasses the cost of a few supplies,’ the farmer protested.

‘Indeed,’ Corbin responded. ‘There is a sum added to the tally, as I wish to purchase something else from you.’

‘Name it, m’lord and it is yours,’ the farmer nodded his head. ‘My horse is old but strong. Our livestock are healthy and my-‘

‘I want the farm boy.’

The farmer froze, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into a knot as he glared with horror at the steel plated field marshal.

‘My apologies, m’lord, I must have misheard.’

‘You heard correct,’ Corbin turned his granite eyes on the farmer, his face expressionless.

‘My son is not for sale,’ the farmer spat.

‘From what I hear, he’s your stepson,’ Corbin corrected.

‘We have done nothing but serve you and your men,’ the old man was sick to his stomach, ‘you said it yourself. We gave you our berth and our home, we have slept rough in our own outbuildings, we have taken care of your sick and protected you from harm at the hands of the storm. And this is how you repay us?’

‘ _That_ is how I’ve repaid you,’ Corbin argued, pointing to the sack of coin in the old man’s hand.

‘Then keep your filthy money,’ the farmer threw the sack at Corbin’s feet. ‘I refuse it and I refuse your offer.’

The old man sprang to his feet and made to depart when Corbin grabbed his arm, yanking him back. ‘You misunderstand me,’ his gargoyle eyes bit into the farmer’s face. ‘This is not a request. I am taking him, whether you accept the money or not. The offering was merely a gesture.’

‘You disgust me,’ the old man snarled. ‘You will never have my son.’

‘ _Step_ son,’ Corbin amended again.

‘I made a Binding Vow to his mother than I would protect him,’ the old man lifted his chin defiantly. ‘That I would keep him safe from monsters like you. I will die before I go back on my promise.’

The arm holding the old man’s arm in the grip of a vice tightened even more. The weathered skin broke under the crushing steel of Corbin’s gauntlets. ‘If that is what you wish, old man.’

Seth followed Finn back up the hill towards the farm, seeing him veer towards the stone steps beside the barn. As they came to a halt, Finn bent down and pulled something out from the hollow where he had hidden the night before from McIntyre’s wrath.

‘At first I though it was a gift from the gods,’ Finn smiled as he held out Seth’s fur lined cloak in his arms. ‘Then I realised it was from something, _someone_ , even greater.’ He beamed shyly as he handed it back to the junior officer. ‘You told me there was no good people in the world,’ his hand brushed past Seth’s, lingering on the younger man’s trembling digits, ‘well, I’m not quite ready to believe that yet.’

Seth looked down, feeling his cheeks burn. He was thrilled that Finn had found his gift and even more delighted at his kind words. Seth tried to piece together enough sentiment in his head to return the compliment when he noticed Finn’s expression change suddenly.

‘Finn?’ he asked, concerned. ‘Finn, are you alright?’

The farm boy had turned his head, his ears pricked. His arched brows were drawn together but his hooded eyes were wide. It was then Seth heard it too. The sound of a man screaming.

Finn was away, his pain and wounds forgotten as he hurtled across the yard and towards the farmhouse. Seth sped after in hot pursuit, calling out the Hibernian’s name over and over.

Finn burst through the farmhouse door. The inside was dark and he scrunched his eyes to adjust them from the dazzling brightness of the crisp morning to the room as dark as a dungeon. The first thing he made out was the commander of the army, Baron Corbin, standing at his full, gigantic height, decked out in plate armour minus his helm. It was then that Finn saw the broadsword in his hand. He was wiping it with a cloth. The cloth was covered in blood.

‘Finn…’

Finn’s head whipped towards the fireplace where a bundle of rags lay. No, not rags!

Finn fell to his knees and grasped his stepfather. Something sticky clung to his fingers. He pulled them away and found them awash with red. ‘Y-you’re hurt,’ he stammered, his blood pounding in his ears.

‘Finn,’ his stepfather choked out, ‘you… must…’

‘I’m here, I’m going to help you.’

‘…run.’

He must not have heard him right. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Finn!’ A gnarled hand reached out and cupped his cheek. Finn felt a warm, wet sensation on his skin. ‘Remember… what did I… prepare you for…?’

The arched eyebrows soared high, the shoulders fell. ‘For the bad times…’

The farmer nodded, a sad smile on his face.

The hand slid from Finn’s face and slumped to the ground.

Finn felt lost and empty. Grief was crawling up his chest when a voice boomed out behind him.

‘He is gone,’ the commander told him in a tone so void of emotion it made Finn’s entire spine shudder. ‘You’re mine now. Remove your tunic, you won’t be needing it anymore.’

Finn’s mind was a blank, everything was chaos and confusion. His world was spinning and falling, a tapestry tearing apart at the seams, ripping and shredding into a thousand pieces.

_Remember… what did I… prepare you for…?_

Finn gave a mighty roar. He rose to his feet, the gnarled walking stick in his hand and rushed headlong for the black-hearted villain who had murdered the man he loved like a father and had loved him like a son. The tall man watched with uncaring eyes as Finn advanced, raised his sword up and effortlessly cleaved the wooden staff clean in two. Finn snapped into a daze, staring stunned at the splintered ends of the stick, feeling everything around him breaking apart.

Corbin saw the weakness and went in for the final blow. The point of his sword cut through skin and flesh, skimming off bone as it tore across Finn’s right shoulder. The Hibernian fell back from the shock of the blow, hitting the floor right next to his still stepfather. He was too shocked to scream out, too dizzy to understand the severity of his predicament. His body worked on instinct as his good hand clutched his split shoulder, feeling the warm liquid oozing from the wound, the pain thudding across his body, blinding him.

Heavy footsteps were so close they were almost on top of him. Rough hands yanked him onto his front before grabbing the back of his tunic. He felt the icy press of unyielding steel as it shredded through rough-hewn fabric, slashing its way down his back with all the sympathy of an angler slicing a fish’s belly to remove its guts. One last rip and the tunic pooled underneath him, the skin of his back bursting into goosebumps as it was exposed to the sudden chill.

‘Rollins,’ the unfeeling voice barked out. ‘Find me some rope.’

‘Sir, what is going on-?’

That voice. A light of hope shining through the darkness.

‘SETH!’ Finn cried out. ‘Help me!’

A screech of plate metal at his ear. A cruel kick to the side of his head, thumping it hard against the solid floor.

‘Rollins, do not question my order,’ Corbin’s voice chilled him to the bone.

‘…y-yes, sir.’

The coldness took over and Finn succumbed to the black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prisoner has no friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there's no artwork this week but I'll work on some for the next update!

The first thing Finn noticed when he stirred was that his hands had turned blue.

His fists were a deep shade of indigo seeping up into violet fingernails. Maybe it was because the bindings were too tight. He tried to twist his hands out from the rope that had wrapped around his wrists but they held fast. His teeth were healthy - perhaps he could chew through. As he yanked his hands towards him, something grabbed a hold of his feet and pulled him back. A shot of panic hit him at the sudden jerk and at last he awoke fully to his surroundings.

He was on a horse, draped over the backside of the beast like a sack of corn. His wrists, knotted together, were tethered underneath the horse to his ankles so whenever he tried to move his arms he only succeeded in pulling in his legs, unbalancing himself. He lifted his head to scan his surroundings, finding line upon line of armoured troops marching alongside, their heads up yet not a single one of them so much as glanced in his direction.

A gust of icy bees swarmed in on the wind and began stinging his exposed shoulders. His entire body shivered from head to toe as the bite of the cold reclaimed him from his stupour. Then the pain hit. His shoulder had been crudely wrapped in rags but it did little to stop the agony once his nervous system remembered the injury he’d sustained from sharpened steel. It had grown a pulse of its own and was throbbing through his joint like a banging drum.

The cold and the pain went to war, clawing at one another to claim Finn as their prize. At times, one would obtain a short-lived victory over the other before falling to its rival in defeat all whilst the object of their battle felt the misery of both. He tried to grab the attention of the soldiers marching closest to him, his voice little more than a choke as the elements squeezed his throat.

Someone heeded his plea.

The man atop the horse with him, Baron Corbin, not slumped over the rump like some trophy, but astride, his back tall and proud, glared at Finn over his shoulder and, with one look, the frost won the war.

It took a long day’s march to reach Bray and the night had crept in as the troops invaded the small fishing village. Finn watched as they passed by the streets and houses that he knew so well, recognising home and stead. He looked on as doors opened and familiar faces crowded the portals, the young and weak shooed back inside while the sturdier occupants went to unearth the meaning behind the intimidating procession. With each new addition to the growing crowds, Finn’s heart began to pick up its pace.

Here were friends. Here were allies.

Here was hope!

Reaching the harbor with the black water sucking the steep stone jetties, Corbin and his army came to a halt. He addressed the crowd of locals who had gathered around, every single one of them a face known to the captured Hibernian. One man, O’Connell, the father of the girl Niamh, flanked by his five large sons, stepped forward to humbly welcome the Army of the Cross. Corbin relayed his demands, a fleet of boats large enough to take his men across to Dubhlinn in exchange for the vast quantity of coin he had in his possession. O’Connell listened well but kept stealing looks at the bound farm boy.

‘What you ask for shall be done, m’lord,’ O’Connell assured the field marshal and set his sons away to see to the task. ‘If I may, m’lord?’

‘Speak,’ said Corbin as he dismounted his steed, handing the reigns over to a man in his early twenties that Finn knew very well indeed.

‘The man tied to your horse,’ O’Connell looked nervous, afraid to breach the subject. ‘I know him; he is Murphy’s boy. Why is he in your possession?’

‘He is a violent criminal and is under arrest,’ Corbin replied flatly.

‘With all due respect, m’lord,’ O’Connell scratched his fingers through the fibers of the bushy beard lining his cheek, ‘Finn is a peaceful man. Honest, good-natured. He has never lifted a hand to a single soul.’

‘He attacked an officer of the Cross,’ Corbin responded gruffly.

O’Connell stole a look at Finn who stared back, silently pleading with the fisherman for his help. ‘Where is Murphy, the old farmer?’

‘That traitor’s corpse is rotting in his own filth,’ Corbin’s callous remark visibly shook the fisherman and he turned to Finn who’s sorrow filled expression confirmed his fears.

‘Forgive me, m’lord, this is all a lot to take in,’ O’Connell rubbed his hand over his face.

‘Hmm,’ Corbin snorted irritably. ‘I need chains to bind the prisoner. Is there a local smith?’

‘Chains?’ O’Connell stuttered. ‘You can’t be serious, just look at him. Poor boy has been beaten half to death.’

‘Are you questioning my judgment?’ Corbin snapped, his tone taking on an altogether more threatening manner.

‘Yes, m’lord, I mean no… I…’ Finn could see the fisherman trembling now, could feel any hope slipping through his frozen fingers. ‘I just… I can’t believe this. Any of it! Murphy is – was – a kind man and as for Finn, he-‘

‘It’s of no consequence whether you believe it or not,’ Corbin dismissed O’Connell, forcefully. ‘This man is a traitor and will be taken to Dubhlinn to answer for his crimes and unless you wish to join him, I suggest you show me to the nearest smith.’ O’Connell bowed his head. Finn tried to catch his eye again but the fisherman turned his head, unable to look at the younger man.

‘Take my horse to the nearest stables,’ Corbin instructed the younger Hibernian who had hold of his horse’s reigns. ‘Keep an eye on both it and its cargo until I return.’ The young man nodded shakily and clicked his tongue at the horse, coaxing it, and its fettered rider away.

As one hope died, another began to kindle itself inside of Finn as he and the younger man entered an empty warehouse by the quay that would stand in as a temporary stable until the fleet had been assembled. Once the heavy wooden doors closed, Finn allowed himself to sigh with relief and not just because the bite of the winter wind was left wailing outside.

‘Jordan,’ he called to the young Hibernian who was leading the horse to a pillar in order to tether it. ‘Jordan, quick, untie me.’ The young man didn’t respond. ‘Jordan Devlin, I know you can hear me.’

‘I hear you,’ Jordan muttered yet did not turn his face towards Finn.

‘We don’t have much time,’ Finn pleaded with the younger man. ‘Do you have your knife on you?’ Still, the youth didn’t speak. ‘Jordan!’

‘I can’t help you, Finn,’ Jordan whipped around, locking eyes with the older man. ‘They say you’re a criminal.’

‘They lie,’ Finn snarled through gritted teeth.

‘So you didn’t attack a man?’ Jordan grilled.

‘They killed my stepfather,’ Finn shot back. ‘In cold blood. An old man with a stick. Ran him through with a sword.’

‘They say he was a traitor too.’

The younger man was lucky that Finn was tightly bound at that point or he would have slapped some sense into him. ‘And you believe them? Have you forgotten that time your baby sister was sick? Who crushed medicinal herbs to boil them into a broth and rid her of her fever?’ Jordan lowered his head, refusing to speak. ‘Who went hungry in order to give what he could from his stores to the whole town when the fishing season was poor?’ He waited for an answer but none came.

‘My stepfather did,’ Finn finished for the younger man. ‘And who do you think went hungry with him? Who do you think went up into the mountains to find those herbs for your baby sister? Me, Jordan, it was me.’ A wail of pain erupted from his shoulder and Finn was forced to stop until it quelled. Time was wasting away; he would have to switch tactics. ‘I was the one who taught you how to hunt, remember? We used to walk together into the woods where we would climb up high into the trees, feast on nuts and fire slingshots at the birds? We always came back with a pheasant or two, dangling from our belts.

‘And remember the midsummer’s festival in the town, you had your eye on Deirdre Burke. You came to me in a panic and asked me for advice on how to woo her. What did I say to you?’

‘You told me to ask her for a dance,’ Jordan spoke up, his voice soft but warm. ‘It’ll work one of two ways, you said, either you’ll sweep her off her feet or you’ll step on them.’

‘And which was it?’ Finn asked with a smile on his face.

‘I stomped my massive hoof on her delicate toes,’ Jordan replied with the smallest of laughs. ‘But, after I lifted her over to a stack of hay, gently sat her down and massaged her foot better, she soon forgot how clumsy I’d been.’

‘And do you remember the day of your cousin’s funeral?’ Finn’s tone turned solemn.

Jordan nodded. ‘Lost at sea,’ he confirmed, ‘we had no body to bury. We held the ceremony on the beach. It rained...’

‘And I stood at your shoulder the entire time, getting drenched alongside you,’ Finn said, his eyes never wavering from the younger man’s. ‘Jordan, you _know_ me, you have done your whole life.’ He lifted up his bound hands as high as they would go. ‘Please… help me.’

‘I… I can’t,’ Jordan was the one to plead now. ‘They will find out I let you go and hang me.’

‘Just say you nipped out for a piss,’ Finn tried to remain calm but he was so agonizingly close. ‘When you came back, I was gone.’

‘You’re a criminal,’ Jordan was gripping at straws now.

‘They say I am but you know I’m not,’ Finn was growing exasperated; they were running around in circles.

‘Why would they lie?’

‘Because they want to take me away.’

‘But why? What do they want with you?’

‘I…’ Finn stopped. Silence hung in the air as his mind drew a blank. ‘I… don’t know…’

Hope was dashed for the second time as the large wooden doors to the warehouse heaved open with a loud creak. Both men turned their heads towards the intrusion, finding a small huddle of men making their way inside. At the lead were two men; one was short and squat with bulging arms, the other was taller but of a more scrawny build. Finn identified them easily as the blacksmith and his son.

‘So it’s true,’ the blacksmith, O’ Mahony, exclaimed as he ushered the small group inside and instructed them to shut the doors. ‘Finn, my boy, what’s going on? First I have soldiers banging on my door at this forsaken hour telling me they need chains for their prisoner, then I hear that prisoner is none other than yerself.’

‘They killed my stepfather,’ Finn implored to the shorter man, the diminishing flame of hope inside him daring to flare up one last time. ‘He died trying to protect me from these men. They want to take me with them back to Dubhlinn.’

O’Mahony crouched down until he was eye level with Finn, placing a strong hand reassuringly at the back of his neck. ‘We’ll help you, my boy,’ he said firmly and Finn felt the fire flutter inside of him. ‘Ho, Jordan! What’s wrong wit’cha? You should have cut Finn free and let him out of here by now.’ Jordan shrunk away guiltily as O’Mahony reached an arm out to the young man. ‘Give us your knife. Now!’

Jordan fished the pocketknife out from his boot and handed it over. The rope was sliced from around Finn’s wrists, releasing his blue hands from the bonds. Immediately he began to slip backwards over the horse’s rear, his body weakened from exposure and pain. Fortunately, the blacksmith’s son was there to catch him and soon O’Mahony had an arm wrapped around him too.

‘Brighid’s flame!’ the blacksmith cursed as he spied the welts on Finn’s back. ‘Bunch of feckin’ savages, this lot.’

O’Mahony held Finn firm as his son removed the rope from around his ankles. Now that he was free and standing on his own two feet, Finn felt light headed and physically worn out.

‘I won’t get far like this,’ Finn uttered feebly as he grasped tightly around the blacksmith’s shoulder.

‘That you won’t,’ the older man agreed, solemnly. ‘Never you mind now, we’ll find you someplace safe to hide for now and then-‘

The doors to the warehouse burst open, the angry wind charging in and ripping right through Finn, his heart leaping at the shock.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Finn didn’t need to lift his head to know whose voice it was. ‘Good, you haven’t started yet. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

For the third time the flame of hope was blown out, this time any spark was snuffed out like a candle in the harsh icy wind, as McIntyre and a collection of his men swarmed the warehouse and surrounded the party of Bray men inside. Finn felt O’Mahony grip him tightly but he knew in the depths of his soul that the fight was over.

It was Bray men that held him fast, their courage dissolved at the sight of armoured men brandishing sharpened steel. O’Mahony, the man who had looked him in the eye and promised he would help him, was now the one wielding the bulky metal shackles that would hold him fast to his fate. The very wrists that the blacksmith had cut free mere moments before he was now binding more firmly with unrelenting lock and key.

Finn didn’t fight back, didn’t even struggle as the same treatment was applied to his ankles, but he glared, those intense eyes of his burning a hole into the blacksmith’s flesh, never once faltering, knowing that every second he applied the pressure of his look, the man who had promised him freedom but instead gave him chains, would feel its acidic blister.

Wrists and ankles were now fettered but the Bray men did not release him. Finn’s eyes bore into O’Mahony as he turned from his sack, brandishing something heavy in his hand. The blue eyes flicked down for a second but as his mind processed the item, the eyes returned and lingered on the iron implement in the man’s hand.

‘A collar?’ Finn shook his head.

‘As I was instructed,’ O’Mahony sighed heavily.

‘But… collars are for animals and slaves and-‘ The words choked in Finn’s throat.

There it was. There was his answer.

Blue eyes turned as pale as his skin. Under the weight of the shackles they sank to the floor. The metal wrapped around his neck like the maw of a wolf as it bit down on its prey’s jugular. No simple turn of a key would suffice to keep this fetter locked tight; it would be a more permanent addition. Hammer blows riveted the bolt into place at the back of his neck and with each strike, Finn lurched, unable to stop the cries escaping his lips. The duet of clanging iron and pained howls echoed around the silent warehouse and with each chime of doom, Finn cursed the men of Bray. The men he had thought of as friends and allies, the men who he had put ill-founded hope in to save one of their own, men who he now knew were nothing but cowards. He damned the sea to swallow them up, the fish to be rotten husks, the ships to carry disease. He wished the land to dry up, the crops to fail and the beasts to shrivel and die. He asked for plague, drought, famine, disease and despair. He hoped for every single man within earshot of the bell ringing his fate that they carry the noise with them until their grave.

The last bell tolled, its peel fading into silence. The men of Bray released him and left, none of them glancing back at the one they had failed. Finn watched them leave, eyeing the back of every individual head, remembering every single one of their names as they disappeared through the wooden doors and were gone. Only Jordan dared to peek back over his shoulder and was stung with the frost of Finn’s gaze before he closed the door shut.

Heavy boots pounded their way towards him. McIntyre bent down, a large smirk on his face as he whistled through his teeth. ‘What a pretty sight,’ he taunted the chained prisoner. ‘Ye’ve got to hand it to Corbin, when he wants something, he’ll make bloody sure he gets it.’

McIntyre’s men grabbed Finn and dragged him backwards, iron chains clattering against the stone floor as they set him against the wooden pillar in the middle of the room, using the rope from earlier to bind him tightly to the post. McIntyre followed lazily after, his grinning eyes only ever leaving the face of the captive Hibernian to ogle his naked torso. The prisoner secured, McIntyre dismissed the soldiers with a stiff motion of his head.

‘Just you and me,’ he leered at Finn as he lowered himself to the Hibernian’s level. ‘Tell you what, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I had a wee chat with the field marshal and we’ve come to an… arrangement. He can have you for now. I won’t even try any funny business. He wants your… ‘virginity’,’ he cocked an eyebrow at Finn who suddenly felt overwhelmingly sick, ‘he can have it. He can pound your sweet little arse into oblivion for all I care. But when he gets bored of you, and he _will_ get bored of you, Finn, that much I can guarantee, he’s promised to hand you over to me.’

McIntyre’s bear claw grasped Finn’s jaw, his thumb stroking back and forth over the Hibernian’s lips before pushing roughly into Finn’s mouth ‘And then, I’ll finally get to feel these lovely lips of yours wrapped around my– _gah!_ ’

With a start, McIntyre withdrew his thumb, placing it into his own mouth to suck the blood from the tip. He shot a nasty look at Finn who stared back defiantly. ‘Still got some fight left in ye?’ McIntyre smirked. ‘Just wait, Corbin will break you in so hard that by the time you come to me you’ll do exactly as you’re told. Otherwise, I’ll have to remove a couple of those pretty little teeth.’ He playfully slapped Finn’s cheek before standing up and making his way to the door.

Left alone, the weight of his predicament fell heavily onto Finn’s shoulders. He tried to pull his hands up to his face but the heft of the chains was too great, so instead he pulled his knees up and rested his forehead against them. He sat, his mind a mess and his emotions ravaged when a small voice spoke to him, coming from some unknown place deep inside of him.

_Son, you may grieve tonight but come tomorrow you will be a new man and the world is cruel. You must never show it your weakness again._

Finn lowered his defenses and the tears came gushing out, his shoulders trembling as his sobs echoed out into the cold night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bond is strengthened/ a New-Worlder makes his first binding Binding Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the love continues to roll in so here is an [artwork](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/The-Prisoner-Learns-his-Fate-832409749) for you of poor Finn when he realises what Corbin has in store for him.  
> Next week - we will find out...

Finn had spent his formative years by the sea and he had seen it in its many forms. From high up on the mountains as he tended the sheep or foraged for flora, he had sat and admired the glistening blanket of gems that stretched out as far as the eye could see. On a clear sunny day, the haar would lift like a woman swatting off her cloak, revealing a flowing dress of pale aqua and rich teal, shimmering with diamonds along its length. On dull days, it turned a saturated turquoise adorned with frothy puffs of white as the waves came slinking up to the beachfront. Other times it was cobalt, cerulean, sapphire, shadowed by tones of violet and indigo, sometimes it appeared more green like emerald, shamrock or olive.

Then there were the times the sea became angry and turned a dark shade of grey, the waves rising and falling as if the gods themselves were brawling meters below the waves. On those days, Finn would watch the tiny spires of fishing boats that found themselves adrift during the storm, look on with his heart in his throat as the fragile structures became hidden in a curtain of rolling shadows. Sometimes, the ship would be lost from sight, the sea having swallowed its prey whole.

Those were the days where Finn learnt to respect the ocean and her fleeting wilds and now, chained up in the bowels of one of those very fishing boats, it only reinforced the notion. He sat bunched up in a corner of the stuffy hold, shackled wrists bound tight to a hook above his head, breathing in the hot stench of horse manure and fear-induced sweat. Next to him one of the great beasts screeched as the boat lurched upon the waves. Finn felt sympathy for the animal – his stomach was churning like a bog too. Already, he had the lost whatever measly contents his stomach had to offer and yet it was still threatening to upend whatever else it could find.

His skin felt damp and clammy as sweat beaded his brow. He tried wiping it on the inside of his arm but it only succeeded in slicking his forehead even more. Pulling his head back against the balmy wood, he tugged feebly on the chains holding his arms up but nothing gave. All he wanted was to adjust the collar around his neck. The iron was heavy and cutting into his collarbone. It was also suffocating, the thick metal collecting all of his body heat just to concentrate it on the one spot from jaw to shoulder. It parched his throat and his dry mouth could do nothing to ease its thirst.

_Maybe I’ll die down here_ , Finn thought to himself, feeling guilty about how pleasing the thought was to him at that moment.

They had been travelling for some while now. Though he could not see out of the hold with there being no windows to speak of, he knew that the tiny village of Bray must be far, far behind them now, nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Their destination, Dubhlinn, however, would be somewhere lurking over the next wave, waiting with open mouth to suck the captured Hibernian in.

He had visited the capital before, many a time, but that was when he was a child in the travelling troupe. Visits were often fleeting and busy and he had little chance to explore. He remembered passing by the imposing fortress of the castle, with its towering stonewalls, the cobbled streets and the noise of the market, he remembered the river that cut through the city, dividing it into two halves, burdened with boats of every shape and size. He recalled the bulk of the coins he would collect from the locals, his mother lovingly ruffling his hair, as dark as hers, as he handed the fruits of their labour over.

He remembered one woman, watching on as his mother sang an old Hibernian song, translated into the common language now to adhere to the rules of the Cross. He saw her crying and went over to her, gently grasping her hand and beaming up at her to try and rouse her from her melancholy. She had held two knotted hands to his cheeks, looking down deep into his bright, blue eyes and her lips had crinkled into a beautiful smile.

‘Here you go, little prince,’ she had said as she handed him a coin. It was not much but Finn knew it was all she had. He had dashed over to one of the girls selling heather tokens and caught the old lady before she left, handing the tiny bouquet to her. It was meant to signify good luck. She had accepted the token, brushed a crooked hand down his cheek, a small tear at her eye.

The door to the hold opened and Finn awoke from his stupour with a start, the chains clinking around him as his body jumped. He looked across the room, his senses groaning as the conditions of the dungeon gripped him again, finally spotting the intruder.

Seth, the young officer. Finn’s heart did a leap as high as the wave that rocked the boat, pulling him back down to grim reality as his stomach gave up the fight. By the time he had finished dry heaving, every bone and muscle retching from the spasms, Seth was rushing over to him.

‘Finn! There you are!’ he called, reaching an arm out. Something inside Finn recoiled harshly.

‘Don’t touch me!’ he barked at the junior officer. Seth halted a foot or so away, lowering himself onto his haunches as he eyed the wretched specimen in front of him. Finn felt the younger man’s eyes on him and bunched his knees up closer to his chest.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Seth noted, edging ever so closer to the chained man.

‘As if you care a jot,’ Finn spat, pulling himself tighter into the corner.

‘I do care,’ Seth argued, lifting up his fingers towards Finn’s face.

‘Stay back!’ Finn tried to sound forceful but his words came out as nothing more than a whimper. The fingers were coming closer and he desperately turned his face away from them.

‘Finn, you’re burning up,’ Seth noted, feeling the heat from the Hibernian’s forehead radiating through the back of his fingertips. ‘You’re sick.’

‘Leave me alone,’ he pleaded.

‘If I do then you’ll die.’

‘Then let me die.’ It wasn’t some self-pitying wail of melodrama. It was earnest and the sincerity of the statement struck Seth like a lightning bolt.

‘Finn, look at me,’ he tried to coax the Hibernian out of the corner.

‘No, just leave,’ Finn’s resolve was failing miserably and if Seth didn’t go soon, he would break down completely.

‘Finn, please.’

The sentiment of his appeal was enough to wrench Finn’s soul in two. He finally turned to face the younger man, seeing the concern in those dark brown eyes and feeling his defenses crumbling.

‘I’m going to help you,’ Seth said. Finn had heard those exact same words before, only mere hours ago. He had felt the flame of hope rise and fall three times before the fire was snuffed out completely. He had heard promises of allies as hollow as the clang of the hammer that had bolted the metal collar around his neck.

Yet, now, for whatever reason, he found himself believing, truly believing those very words. He barely knew the man but there was something genuine about him that put Finn’s mind at ease. The weariness was taking him again but before he drifted off, he nodded feebly.

‘Thank you.’

A gruff noise that sounded somewhere between a yawn and a sharp hum instructed Seth to enter the cabin that Corbin had appropriated for his quarters. As Seth walked in, he found his superior sat behind a table that Seth guessed the fisherman would normally eat on, rifling through wads of documents and taking notes. Seth couldn’t even begin to understand what any of the figures on the paper meant nor did he care to know. To him warfare was about the man at your side, it was that fine balance between life and death. To take in any other factors such as finances was to lose sight of that.

‘Rollins,’ Corbin grumbled as he peered over his paperwork. ‘I don’t recall summoning you.’

‘You didn’t, sir,’ Rollins saluted stiffly.

‘Then why are you disturbing me?’

‘I’ve been down to the hold, sir.’ Rollins had gone over his tactics for the discussion on his way to Corbin’s office. The field marshal was not a man known for his sympathetic nature and had even less time for idle chat so Seth made sure to keep his statements simple and to the point.

‘Hmm,’ the stoic man retorted, already seeing where the conversation was going.

‘It is no place to keep prisoners, sir.’ Seth felt a quiver up his spine. What on God’s green earth was he doing?

Rather than being angry, Corbin appeared amused at Seth’s judgment and leaned back in his seat, his hand on the desk, fingers lazily drumming the dented wood. ‘This is no mighty battleship of the Blue Fleet,’ he noted, patronizingly. ‘We do not have a brig to detain our prisoners so I had to make do.’

‘And chain him up with the horses?’

‘He was happy enough to sleep in the stables before,’ Corbin argued, flatly.

‘There’s no air down there, sir,’ Seth went on. ‘He’s surrounded in animal filth, suffocating in the heat. He’s sick, sir.’

‘Are you a healer now, Rollins?’ Corbin flashed a condescending smile.

‘No, sir,’ Seth replied sharply, ‘but, like any man, I can see the signs of ailment. He is hot to the touch, his skin is pale and clammy and he drifts in and out of sleep.’

‘He’s a farm boy,’ Corbin debated, ‘not a sailor. Tis merely the waves which have ailed him.’

‘Maybe so,’ Seth conceded, ‘or maybe since he’s come into your care, he’s sustained a wound that hasn’t been treated properly, he’s been exposed to the winter elements, he has been starved and parched and now he’s holed up in a sweat box lined with horse dung.’

‘Are you telling me how to treat my prisoners, Rollins?’ Corbin’s glare turned black.

‘No, sir,’ Rollins shook his head. ‘I’m merely pointing out that if you continue treating him this way, your new plaything may not even make it to Dubhlinn-‘

Corbin slammed his hand against the table, shocking Seth to silence. He knew he had gone too far but if it aided in him helping Finn, it was worth it. He clammed his mouth tightly and waited for the result. Corbin was mulling it over; he could see the fingers rapping against the wooden surface, beating out a frustrated rhythm.

‘Very well,’ Corbin sighed and Seth felt a knot ball up in his throat. ‘You care so much about my prisoner’s welfare? You may do what you will to ensure his comfort. Until we dock at Dubhlinn, he is your responsibility.’

Seth felt his legs turn to jelly but he kept his strong stance, saluting to his superior. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He turned to leave when he heard the field marshal call out his name.

‘Rollins,’ Corbin’s voice was dancing on the knife-edge of calmness, ‘don’t ever question me again. Are we clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Seth bowed his head, finding it wise to dash out of the large man’s sight.

Finn woke to a fresh salty breeze tickling his skin. He could hear the swoosh of gentle waves and the caw of seabirds gliding overhead. _Did it happen_ , he thought to himself, _have I died and passed over to the next life?_

Something cool was pressed to his head. He tried to raise a weary hand up to identify the strange substance when he heard a depressing clank of iron. Opening his eyes a crack, he spied the large metal shackles clamped around his wrists and his heart sank. He was still alive, still trapped in this nightmare, however the landscape of his horror had changed drastically. Where was he?

He tried to sit up but his whole body felt as heavy as an anchor tethering him to the ocean floor. The slight movement he did achieve seemed to make the very earth shake as he involuntarily began to swing to and fro. He discovered he was in a hammock strung up in a quiet corner of the fishing boat’s deck. From his vantage point, he could make out the glistening bed of ocean blue, the colour of periwinkle, soothing waves rocking him like a babe in her arms. He smiled, feeling his ill will lessening now he was out of that foul-aired box below and here, in the ocean’s sweet embrace, rediscovering their friendship once more.

He softly closed his eyes, feeling for the moment content and safe, when he heard footsteps walk towards him. A welcome face leaned over his hammock, smiling as he spied his charge was awake. Finn felt Seth fingers gently replace the cool rag on his forehead with his fingers and couldn’t stop the soft smile from escaping his lips.

‘The ague is leaving you,’ Seth noted with relief. ‘Looks like all you needed was some fresh air.’

‘You took me here?’ Finn asked, his voice croaky.

Seth only nodded shyly. ‘Here, this might help put some fire back in your belly.’ He offered the opening of a tin flask to Finn’s lips and he took a tentative sip. Seth wasn’t exaggerating; the liquid flame burnt its way down his throat.

‘By Brighid’s flame!’ Finn cursed. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘Some Caledonian nectar, not sure what they call it,’ Seth answered. It was then that Finn noticed the flask, set in with intricate woven markings in the shape of the letter ‘M’.

‘Seth,’ Finn narrowed his eyes, ‘where did you get that?’

‘Oh this?’ Seth raised the flask to his lips, chugging down a large swig that almost choked him. ‘Swiped it from McIntyre.’ He grinned down cheekily at Finn whose face burst into a laugh. ‘You want some more?’

‘Oh definitely, give it here,’ Finn reached out a manacled wrist and Seth placed the flask in his palm before closing his fingers tight around the tin. ‘The rest is yours. It’s the least he owes you, the bastard.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Finn took another small swig, not wanting to harm his dry throat and empty stomach. ‘Least all he did was beat me some. If I hadn’t been so focused on him, I might have seen the real danger.’

Finn saw Seth’s face fall as the sea filled the small silence with a gentle sluice. ‘I know it doesn’t mean anything to you,’ Seth sighed, ‘but I am truly sorry. For everything. For what happened back at the farm, for what’s happening now, I-‘

‘I’m not mad at you, Seth.’

That caught the junior officer off-guard and he turned to face the Hibernian, shocked by the candid smile on his lips. ‘But… you should be,’ Seth said stiffly. ‘You should hate me.’

‘You’re a soldier of the Cross,’ Finn pointed out. ‘Corbin is your direct superior. Had you tried to help me, deliberately disobeyed and defied him, well… I’ve heard the stories about what they do to traitors. Listened to the descriptions of men having their bellies sliced open and their innards torn out, all while they wriggle at the end of a rope, just enough life in them to feel every finger clawing their way into their gut and to smell the stench of their own flesh cooking on a fire. Doesn’t bear thinking about. And why would you risk such a fate to help a man you’d only just met. If the tables were turned, I doubt I’d have taken that chance.’

‘Still,’ Seth gave a shrug, ‘you’d have the right to be angry.’

‘I _am_ angry,’ Finn corrected him, his arched eyebrows dipping low. ‘I’m angry at _them_.’ He motioned with his head towards the few fishermen of Bray milling around the deck of the ship. ‘You had no choice. They did. They saw one of their own in need and chose to do nothing. Jordan and I were alone, there was only rope holding me, the army would be leaving within the hour. If it had been the other way, you could be damned sure I’d have cut him loose and fled with him, kept him hidden and safe until the coast was clear.’

‘I know you would,’ Seth said, squeezing Finn’s uninjured shoulder.

‘As for O’Mahony and his empty promises,’ Finn spat. ‘He knew, right from the moment they knocked on his door, he knew what lay in store for me, yet at the first sign of danger, he cringed away, the weasel. Couldn’t even look me in the eye as he bolted the collar he’d forged for me around my neck.’ His fingers curled around the bulky metal at his collarbone, the unwavering iron kept its stranglehold.

‘My stepfather knew when to fight his battles,’ Finn continued, his voice turning husky. ‘Yesterday, with McIntyre, he did nothing, knowing I could take the beating and it would not escalate any further. But with Corbin… I don’t know what words were exchanged but he knew I was in danger and he chose to fight, sacrificing himself in the process. Not a single one of my fellow countrymen had the decency to do the same.’

Finn lowered his eyes, his teeth grinding together as he tried to subdue his ire. He felt Seth rubbing his shoulder again when they heard a voice call out.

‘Dubhlinn, ho!’

The frost gripped Finn again, the liquid fire from the flask doing little to quash the icy chill. Seth must have noticed the change in Finn’s demeanour as he squeezed Finn’s shoulder tightly.

‘It’s a distance, still,’ he tried to comfort the Hibernian.

‘I want to see,’ Finn replied, and Seth nodded. With considerate help from Seth, Finn managed to ease himself out of the hammock, his chains clunking on the wooden deck as his feet hit the floor. Seth wrapped a worn blanket around Finn’s exposed upper body and allowed the Hibernian to lean on him as they stumbled towards the side of the boat. Across the waves the could see the sliver of the shore, tiny pillars of smoke rising out of the land where the fated city lay in wait. It was closer than Finn had hoped.

‘Seth, do you know what a selkie is?’ the Hibernian asked the solider at his side. Seth replied in the negative. ‘A fabled beast of Hibernia,’ Finn explained, ‘people of the sea. When they swim among they waves they look a lot like seals but every so often, they come up onto the land, shed their oily skins and take the form of humans. Meant to be the most beautiful creatures you’d ever laid your eyes upon. It was said that if you ever crept up on a selkie while it bathed in human form and stole their skins, hid them away where they would never be found, that selkie would become trapped on land. Slaves to the men who had taken their pelts.’

Seth pondered this strange tale for a time until he understood the older man’s meaning, recalling their conversation that first day up on the mountain.

‘You’re not a selkie, Finn,’ Seth told the crestfallen man who now stared into the deep as if he wanted nothing more than to dive in and drown.

‘How can you be sure?’ Finn asked, not taking his eyes off the frolicking waves.

‘Well, for one thing, I’m pretty sure selkies wouldn’t get seasick!’

A small smile ghosted Finn’s lips but it was not enough to perk the Hibernian up from his sadness.

‘You know,’ Finn heard Seth pipe up beside him as he pulled the rough-hewn blanket in tighter around him, ‘when people think of soldiers, they think it’s all epic battles, charging into the midst with sword and shield and facing your foe head on. But really, we don’t often end up in battles. Most of what we do is lay siege.’ Finn glanced at Seth, eyebrow raised, wondering what his point was. ‘It’s a long, arduous and hellishly dull process. You set up camp, you cut down trees to make battering rams, you sharpen your weapons, but really, it’s all just sitting around and waiting. But you wait for a reason; you wait for that opportunity. Perhaps one of their scouts grows sloppy, perhaps one of their sentries falls asleep on the job, maybe their people grow hungry and start to get restless. The trick is, once that chance presents itself, you have to seize it, see the chink in their armour, you have to run your sword through. You see what I mean?’

‘No, not really,’ Finn looked at Seth as if he had gone stark raving mad.

‘I can’t do anything for you right now,’ Seth looked across the water to Dubhlinn, the wind whipping through his long two-toned hair. ‘So for now, we have to bide our time and wait. Sharpen our weapons, ready our troops, wait for that one significant moment of opportunity and when it does, we strike.’

‘And what do _I_ do in the meantime?’ Finn asked, his voice wobbling.

Seth paused for a moment, clearly despising the words he was about to impart. ‘Survive,’ he finally said.

Finn released a long, stuttering breath as he settled his eyes on the horizon, the smoke of Dubhlinn growing closer with every gust of wind caught in the sails.

‘I’m scared,’ he choked out.

He felt something warm press down on his hand and found Seth’s fingers clasped tightly around it, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over his weathered knuckles.

‘Hold on a second,’ Seth ordered him and began looking around his feet, rummaging among the nettings and crab cages until he reemerged with a frayed fragment of old rope. Grabbing Finn’s shackled wrist he locked his fingers around Finns’ and threw the rope haphazardly around them. After a couple of failed attempts he grimaced at the Hibernian.

‘I’ve never done this before,’ he confessed.

Finn felt the smile return to his lips albeit a small one. He took the rope from the junior officer and looped it gracefully around their fists as per the custom of a Binding Vow. Once they were securely fastened he nodded at Seth to make his promise.

‘Finn Bálor, in the presence of my God, the one and only Almighty, the father of the Earth and Skies, I swear to release you from your bondage, to break the chains that bind you, hand and foot, to cleave the collar around your neck in two and to grind it to dust. I will reclaim your freedom and return you to the lands and mountains you hold so dear. If I fail in my attempts, may the Lord strike me with his lightning, impale me on sharp rocks or rip my heart from my chest. I will succumb to my betrayal and forfeit my very life to you. In the eyes of the Father, I make this pledge. Amen.’

He lowered his head somberly and Finn felt compelled to do the same.

‘Was that ok?’ Seth asked, creaking an eye open to check with Finn.

‘They’re not usually so wordy,’ Finn let out a small laugh as Seth fixed him with a friendly scowl. ‘It was perfect,’ Finn assured him as he untied the rope and released their fists. Their touch lingered, Seth holding on tightly to Finn’s weather worn digits, his thumb running over skin as pale as frost but as warm as embers. Finn was surprised to find himself cursing whatever Gods of destiny were watching over them, feverishly wishing that the marching doom of time would stop still for once, locking them forever in this moment. New feelings were stirring in his belly and it scared him but in a good way. Feelings that he longed to explore further one day in the near future.

If the Gods of Fate were kind enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slave is broken in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Warning - this chapter contains scenes of sexual assault including rape ***

The gods mocked Finn.

When he had asked them to slow down time, to grind it to a halt, they instead furled the wheel in the opposite direction, speeding it up to a blur. Before he knew it, the speck on the horizon was now great walls and buildings, spewing huge columns of black smoke that surrounded him like that bars of a cage. The boat ferried its way up the river, landing with a thud of gangway at the docks. Corbin walked out into the open air, decked in his full armour, helm under his arm. He approached the two men, standing to the side as they watched the fishermen tether the boat to the shore, readying it for the soldiers of the Cross to depart.

‘Is he fit?’ Corbin asked Seth over the top of Finn’s head.

‘He is better, sir,’ Seth replied, his mood noticeably low. ‘Some food and ale should revive him further.’

‘You have done me a service,’ Corbin said curtly, before yanking the blanket from around Finn’s shoulders and throwing it into Rollins’ arms. ‘Take the men back to the castle. I will report in tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rollins nodded his head, stealing one last glimpse at Finn, whose whole body had wound up as tight as a balled fist. Corbin’s fingers latched around the metal collar at Finn’s throat and roughly dragged him away, down the gangplank and into the bowels of his new prison.

Despite his position in the army, Corbin did not believe in lodging at the castle, thinking it below his status as Baron. Instead, he had procured a number of houses several streets away and turned them into as stately a domain as he could muster. The walk to his new home was thankfully short considering Finn was forced to walk the distance, tethered to his conqueror’s horse by a rope knotted to his collar. His body was still weak, his stomach clawing hungrily while his limbs creaked beneath the added pressure of iron and had the journey been any longer, he would surely have collapsed and been dragged through the streets like a ragdoll. He stared up in wonder at the mighty stone gate that rose out of the cobbled streets, hearing the solid wood groan loudly as the doors opened to let in its master, his steed and his prize. Finn observed the men who manned the impressive portal, their tunics the colour of graphite, their breastplates not bearing the leaning cross of the army but a snarling wolf. It occurred to Finn that these must be Corbin’s own men, not talented enough for the famously undefeatable Red Army, but with sufficient discipline and loyalty to guard his home. As the steel clad guards heaved the dense gates shut behind him, Finn felt the lock to his cage snap shut.

A tall, skinny man welcomed the baron home. His skin was so pale he looked isle-born but his accent betrayed the fact he was a New Worlder. Finn remembered somebody telling him that most New Worlders were from somewhere else originally, many of whom were from the isles – perhaps this man had an isle-born granny. The man, who turned out to be the steward of the house, began relaying the orders he had given his staff at the sudden arrival of the nobleman. Corbin dismounted his horse, snorting a reply with all the care of a giant as it crushes a hamlet beneath his feet.

‘Have the maids prepare my bath,’ Corbin instructed his steward. ‘Take my horse to the stable.’

‘And your, uh…’ the steward looked at Finn down the length of his pointy nose, ‘… belongings, milord?’

‘Take him to the kitchens,’ Corbin said as he began to walk towards the house, ‘give him food and ale then bring him to me.’

‘If I may, milord,’ the steward scuttled alongside the field marshal, ‘to permit such a ragged creature into the house is unseemly. I will have him washed-‘

‘No!’ Corbin swung around and fixed the steward with a mad-eyed glower. It was the first time Finn had seen the field marshal express anything other than stony apathy and it worried him further. His new warden had a temper when it suited him. ‘You have your orders,’ Corbin snarled at his subordinate. ‘Food! Ale! Nothing else. Bring him to me as he is.’

‘U-u-understood, milord,’ the skinny man stammered. ‘Right away, milord.’ The steward, probably wishing the nobleman was back on his travels again, grabbed Finn by the chains at his wrists and steered him into a side door while Corbin entered through the grander main door of his domain.

Finn’s meal consisted of a bowl of oatmeal, a dry husk of stale bread and half an onion along with a small flagon of ale. He was pushed onto a stool in a corner of the kitchen to keep him out of the way while he ate. He savoured the nourishment, feeling the dull heat of the fire in the stove while his stomach groaned with appreciation. To some, his portion may have seemed measly, but Finn was low-born, first a penniless traveler and then a peasant farm boy. He had known hunger through those lean winter months, he had endured low crops and failing beasts, he could resist the gnaw of an empty stomach. To be given a chunk of bread was to dine like royalty.

He bore witness to the hustle and bustle of the busy kitchen area, seeing the cooks and maids scattering like bees in a hive, stepping over one another to serve their master. Very few took note of him and when they did, it was a look of abject disgust. It was a new experience to Finn, being of a comely face and handsome physique, he was used to having more amiable gazes from the local ladies, but he supposed he was not a pretty sight at that moment. The stench of horse manure that clung to the air around him would be enough to turn their stomachs but coupled with the caked-on layers of dirt and dried blood to his skin and he most likely resembled a terrifying caricature of Plague itself.

He nibbled between long pauses at his meal, trying to prolong his destiny as much as he could but it was a fruitless endeavor. The second he wiped the last of the oatmeal from his bowl with the back of his bread, the steward was at his side, beckoning him to his feet and to follow him to Corbin’s quarters. Finn felt his guts twist up inside him, wondering if it was the same alarm that a felon felt as he marched towards the gallows, or what a young woman, barely out of childhood, felt as she was plucked from home and stability and forced down the alter to marry the gruff stranger that would be her husband. His fingers trembled within his tight fists and his teeth were clattering together so loudly that he had to purse his lips tightly to muffle the sound.

… _never show it your weakness again_.

I’m trying, stepfather, he replied to the warning voice in his head, but you never told me how difficult it would be.

Down winding corridors and dim lit stairwells they traversed with only the clank of chains and the clumsy scuffle of the steward’s feet breaking the silence left by Finn’s assassin tread. They spoke no words, none need be said nor were they wanted. Finn became entangled in his fear, surrounding him like a net. The more he thrashed, the more his mind became panicked, the tighter the bounds wrapped around him. The fly oft made the same mistake when it became stuck in the spider’s web and like the fly he was counting down the seconds until the colossal spider appeared, fangs dripping with anticipation.

The steward stopped. Finn paused in his steps. A rap at the door. A grunt called them to enter, The steward opened the door and with a single point of the finger, ordered Finn inside. The young Hibernian had no options left but to obey. The door closed behind him with a resounding boom. Finn faced his destiny and all its horrors.

Corbin was before him, naked, sprawled out in a brass bath, his hair wet and slicked back, dangling out of the tub like a damp rag. The steam from the hot water rose up around him doing little to soften the hard edge features of the man. For the first time, Finn noticed the marks on the larger man’s body, permanent images etched onto his chest and arm. At first glance, Finn could make out birds wrapped around white cornices adorned with stars while at its center, Corbin’s heart seemed to show through the skin on his ribs, the organ trapped in a metal cage.

‘You’re admiring my artwork,’ the voice of Corbin froze the blood inside Finn’s veins. ‘No need to look away, I’ll permit you to look. Come closer.’

Finn didn’t want to come closer; he wanted to run. Turn and flee through the door, break the chains from his limbs, never looking back.

He took one small step forward. It was not enough for Corbin who snapped a long, slim finger to beckon him. An open palm told the Hibernian he was close enough, three feet from the edge of the tub.

‘What do you think?’ Corbin demanded. Finn’s mouth went dry. His knees were now starting to tremble and he was struggling to get them back under control. ‘You like them?’

‘I…’ Finn didn’t know how to respond. To anger the behemoth was to welcome pain but to please him would be just as dangerous. Fortunately Corbin did not seem interested in the response; the unease he was inflicting on his captive was enough to gratify him.

‘I wish to admire you,’ his gravelly voice ordered. ‘Hands by your side.’ Finn’s joints had rusted. He had to jerk them back into life as he lowered each hand down to rest at his thigh. ‘Breeches off.’

A knife of ice stabbed into his heart. From the moment McIntyre had spewed forth his bile of Corbin’s intentions, Finn had chosen not to believe him, deluding himself into thinking the Caledonian was wrong and brushing off the persistent doubt tugging at his mind. He knew he was desirable, knew he could be to both sexes, whether it was the pretty little thing at her cousin’s wedding, a brash, entitled Caledonian with an insatiable appetite or a young, shy junior office who stared at him with wonder in his dark brown eyes.

But Corbin…

The field marshal had never shown the slightest interest in him from the moment he rode in at the head of his Red Army. Had never raised a glance his way as Finn had handed out the bowls of fresh stew, never uttered a word to his ear let alone sweet nothings to woo and seduce. A stone gargoyle was incapable of feelings of passion, disinterested in the throes of desire and apathetic of the fruits of the flesh.

A surge in the water started Finn back to his predicament and he instinctively reared back as the towering form of Corbin rose of his deep, one tree trunk leg lumbering over the edge of the tub followed by the other. Finn’s injured heart began to fight back, pounding his rib cage with such intensity he feared they would crack. It only worsened when he saw the giant walk to his discarded armour and produce a dagger.

Finn’s mind was telling him to flee but his heart was trapped in the height of a fit, the chord of communication between the two severed. As Corbin stalked towards him, closer and closer with each large stride, Finn’s mind tried to wrestle a semblance of control from his panic-stricken body. _Get back,_ it bellowed, _get back!_ Yet with each step he made, the progress was undone by Corbin’s advancements. Finn hit brick wall, his escape thwarted and the predator sprung in for the kill. Corbin was on him, his naked body close enough to Finn’s that he could feel the heat of the bath water steam from his skin, the smell of rose petals invading his nostrils. He closed his eyes, hearing his breathing spasm out between his teeth as his chest thrashed wildly.

A heart trapped inside a cage.

The sensation of icy digits pawing at the waistband of his breeches shocked his eyes open. The caged heart was there, right before him, scarred permanently onto tanned flesh.

The chill from the intruding fingers turned his flesh and bone to ice. Finn stood, his whole body frozen in place, eyes frosted over as he spied the hands at his hip, the dagger brandished in one of them. He chanced a glance up at his capturer, Corbin’s face as hard as stone as he slipped the sharpened blade beneath the string that held Finn’s breeches up. The rope frayed and snapped. Gravelly fingers ripped the broken ties away.

_Snap. Rip._

_Snap. Rip_

_Snap. Rip…_ until the fabric lost its resolve and collapsed into a heap at Finn’s ankles.

Corbin stepped back and his eyes devoured the flesh on display before him. Finn felt his eyes penetrate every inch of his body as invasive as the winter’s wind, chilling his bones and raising his exposed skin to pimples. Icy burns falling down his slender neck to indented collar bone, lingering uncomfortably over pectoral and abdomens, skimming down to consume strong, toned legs before settling on the main prize between his thighs.

‘Do you know much about art, Finn?’ the North Wind gusted from above him. Finn could not reply, his jaw was frozen shut. ‘In our society’s schooling, we are all taught about the ancient masters. Those who used pigment and brush to express great scenes of myth and legends and those who chiseled heroes and monsters from blocks of marble.’ An icy finger pulled Finn’s chin up. He closed his eyes as his head was pulled back to reveal his jugular.

‘My father was a collector,’ the back of Corbin’s digits soothed down the pimpled skin on Finn’s neck. ‘He tried to share that passion with me but I was far more enamored with the art of warfare, preferring to spend my days admiring the weapons in his armoury and learning how to use such implements to pierce flesh and rip away life.’ The fingers dipped under the iron of the collar, forcing its way in to massage the one piece of his flesh that was not on display.

‘There was a singular piece in his collection that always caught my young attention though,’ Corbin went on, as his fingers lowered to follow the curve of Finn’s collarbone. ‘A statue, shorter than my adolescent height, made of marble and bleached white by the ages. It was of a young man, nude as a babe, not a single stitch to keep his body shielded from the elements.’ The frosted fingers were on his chest now, raking down each pronounced crevice. _How can he feel so cold?’_ Finn’s thoughts raced. _I can feel the heat from the bathwater yet his touch is like ice._

‘Do you know the tale of David and Goliath?’ Corbin’s glacial breath whistled. Closed eyes screwed tighter as the captive Hibernian’s head quivered in response. ‘Good. You were not raised entirely a heathen. That rickety old peasant did something right by you.’

A flicker of flame to combat the frost. Finn’s eyes burst open and fixed Corbin with a hateful stare, his fear forgotten for a moment.

‘Ahhhh,’ Corbin’s lips parted into a feral smile, red tongue sliding over icicle teeth. ‘Still some fire in your belly, I see. Good, very good. The same fire raged inside of David as he went to face the titan Goliath, armed only with his feeble slingshot. People revere the small man as some kind of courageous hero who defied the odds but little do they know he was scared too. Just like you are now.’ Finn’s furrowed brow was loosening, his grip on the flame failing. He licked his lower lip, a nervous tick. ‘That was the interpretation the artist used for this statue in my father’s garden back in the New Lands. You could admire it better from above, from Goliath’s perspective, the tension in his toned muscles, the bulging eyes and knotting of the brow. The way his manhood had shriveled up between his legs. Sometimes I would cup his little cock and balls in my palm and squeeze, feeling his fear tremble though my arm.’ Corbin made a tight fist right in front of Finn’s face but it was not the gesture that sent a terrifying bolt through Finn’s body; it was the flicker of movement between the giant man’s legs. ‘It was the most beautiful things I had ever laid my eyes upon,’ Corbin eyes glazed over as he reminisced about his adolescent fantasy, his lids falling heavy, ‘that was, until I saw _you.’_

The black orbs sprang open and were now on large blue eyes, locking Finn into place as effortlessly as the chains clamped to his wrists and ankles. ‘That first morn in the farmyard when you shed your tunic, it was as if my David had come to life. As if God had blown air into his marble lungs, oiled his stone joints and warmed his cold flesh. The resemblance was so striking I thought I was dreaming.’ Corbin’s naked flesh was crawling all over Finn now, his fingers infesting the grooves of his abdominals, the hand holding the dagger clinging to his waist, the thing between his legs licking the inside of his thigh. The overwhelming nausea he’d felt on the boat made an abrupt return. ‘I knew from that instant that God had made you for me and me alone. And now-‘ the hand holding the dagger pounced, two fat fingers wrapping themselves around the front of Finn’s collar and pulling the smaller man close. The reek of Corbin’s breath stung Finn’s nostrils, some ancient reflex at the back of his mind screaming, recognising the stench of raw flesh.

‘…you’re mine!’ The words came from deep within Corbin’s throat.

As quickly as the invading flesh had swarmed Finn’s naked body, it abandoned him. The Hibernian felt his breath slowly return to him but he knew this was short-lived relief. The night was young and the field marshal had plenty of time to torment his prey. He would be in no rush to claim Finn as his own.

The sound of a clasp unsnapping and Finn stared in wonder as the iron was removed, leaving behind black rings around his wrists and ankles. The collar, however, would remain, the bolt ensuring that only another blacksmith would be able to free him from its grip.

‘Into the tub,’ Corbin ordered.

Finn slipped into the hot water, thankful at least for some warmth to thaw the frost in his bones. The North Wind was ever present however, kneeling at the side of the brass tub as he reached over to unwrap the bandages at Finn’s shoulder. Finn stole a glance, feeling a pang of horror at the gruesome gash from Corbin’s blade that ran from just above his armpit to the edge of his collarbone.

‘It will heal,’ Corbin stated. ‘It will leave a scar though. Pity.’

With rag in hand, rose-scented water was sucked up by the cloth, and Corbin’s frosty fingers dragged it through the layers of filth on Finn’s chest and shoulders and down the length of each of his muscular arms. One leg was grabbed from under the knee and pulled up to breach the surface of the bathwater in order for Corbin to meticulously scrub every crumb of dirt from Finn’s feet, even between each of his toes. The same treatment was applied to Finn’s other leg before Corbin turned his attention to the young Hibernian’s face. Dried blood smeared both of Finn’s cheeks; his right was from his own shoulder when his unresponsive head had slumped against it, the other with the handprint of his dying stepfather. Both were wiped away without a word of apology or remorse from the man who had inflicted both acts of pain.

The rag was wrung above his head and the icy fingers rubbed through his nest of dark brown hair, slicking it up into wet spikes. When he was satisfied, Corbin offered the rag to Finn.

‘Wash the remainder,’ the field marshal ordered as Finn’s trembling fingers took the damp cloth. The prisoner couldn’t help but notice that Corbin had left out one particular area of his body – his lower abdomen. A glimmer of naïve hope jumped inside him again, that perhaps Corbin was not interested in him sexually but he dashed this quickly. He had heard from the man himself how he had cupped the statue that Finn supposedly embodied. Corbin’s hands would linger there soon enough, he was biding his time to make the moment all the sweeter. A part of Finn wished he would get it over with, the waiting was akin to torture for his psyche.

‘Lean back,’ the wind gusted from behind him. A clump of his hair was grasped in rigid fingers and he felt the bite of a blade – the dagger – grinding through it, hacking through the strands the way he would harvest crops with a scythe back in the fields. He watched as bundles of his hair fell past his face, some clusters sticking to the wet skin on his shoulders and chest. The blade slashed and ripped, his neck pulled back painfully by a firm unrelenting grip. Soon the bathwater had grown a layer of dark brown scum and Finn felt the field marshal finish by lightly scraping the shorter stems from the back of his neck and temples. His jawline was next to be shorn.

‘From now on, you will maintain your own grooming,’ Corbin hissed in his ear as the blade grazed Finn’s Adam’s apple. ‘I want you clean-shaven and your hairline pristine. Tomorrow, you will shave your entire body and I do mean, _every single part of you._ I don’t want a single strand of hair on you except for those on your scalp is that understood?’

Finn’s tongue refused to loosen until the dagger gave a sharp nick in the side of his neck. ‘Y-yes, m’lord.’

‘M’lord,’ Corbin hummed with amusement. ‘No, no, no. M’lord is what my subordinates call me. _You_ are lower than that. I am your _master_. You understand?’

Finn nodded, unable to stop his lower lip drooping with shock.

‘Answer me!’ the voice at his ear barked.

‘Yes… m-master,’ Finn muttered with self-loathing.

‘Louder!’

‘Yes master!’

‘Good. Now get out!’

Rising up out of the warm water, the cold air struck Finn like a hammer-blow, the breath stolen from his lungs. He crept over the edge of the tub, expecting Corbin to offer him something to dry his sopping body but no such luxury was offered to protect him from the evening’s chill.

Two stone vices grabbed Finn’s wrists brutally. ‘Hands by your _side!’_ Corbin growled angrily as he forced Finn’s fingers away from the area between his legs that he had been subconsciously concealing from view. The unexpected fierceness of Corbin alarmed the Hibernian and he backed up, smartly bumping into the side of the tub. Corbin cared little, keeping his grip firm on Finn’s wrists even as the smaller man found himself leaning back painfully over the soiled bathwater.

‘Beautiful,’ Corbin breathed out, his glacial stare rumbling with lust. One of Finn’s wrists was released, the giant hand instead gripping the back of Finn’s freshly shorn neck, fingers splaying amongst short, soft bristles, latching onto its victim tightly. Corbin’s face was speeding towards him. Finn tried to turn away but the clamp at the back of his neck held him in place. Finn’s free hand went up but did little to stop the larger man as his gaping maw came crashing down onto Finn’s. The Hibernian pursed his lips together tightly, feeling something large and wet trying to force its way into his mouth. Corbin’s hand at the back of his head was squeezing him now, threatening to crush his very skull if he did not allow access for the larger man’s giant slug of a tongue.

Finn never noticed Corbin’s hand release his other wrist nor did he feel it snake around behind him, taking up position at the base of his spine. One swift pull and Finn was yanked away from the tub, tumbling headlong into Corbin’s constricting arms, waiting like two great anacondas to ensnare their prey. Finn felt them slithering over his back and down his spine while the third serpent lashed unrelenting at his lips. Two rough-skinned hands rubbed abrasively over his backside, cupping a tender cheek each. They squeezed without warning, jolting Finn’s entire nervous system. He gasped out with shock and the slug entered his open mouth, choking him with its bulk while the pythons at his backside indulged themselves with his exposed flesh.

It was the slightest of movements, a soft tickle over his hip but it sent alarm bells ringing in Finn’s skull. As Corbin’s hand snaked its way to Finn’s front, the Hibernian found the energy in his arms (squashed between his own chest and Corbin’s tattooed torso) to fight back against the larger man.

‘NO!’ he roared as pushed his kidnapper away, disentangling himself from the nest of snakes. He stumbled backwards, feeling relief as his mouth and body were freed. _The door_ , his mind screamed, _get to the door._ He turned and sprinted towards the portal that would take him to freedom, his heart boosting him with each impassioned thud. He breath caught in his throat as his fingers grasped the large iron catch and he felt the door shudder open…

..only for it to slam shut, a giant hand directly above him.

‘You are making me angry,’ the winter wolf snarled behind him.

Finn jumped to action a fraction of a second too late. His wrists were caught and held above him, crushed against the door by Corbin’s giant palms. He felt Corbin’s artic breath at the back of his neck, laughing softly as he turned Finn to face him, transferring both of the prisoner’s wrists to his left hand, his fingers locking around them as tightly as shackles.

‘I don’t wish to be a cruel master,’ Corbin cooed directly above Finn’s face, sending harsh chills up the smaller man’s spine. ‘But if you persist in testing me, I will hurt you.’ Corbin’s free hand was on him, caressing its cold burn down Finn’s chest. ‘You will soon learn, life will be much, _much_ easier for you when you _obey._ ’ Finn gulped as he felt the gravelly hand glide along his exposed flesh with all the tenderness of a rockslide, felt it tease his nipple, kneading it between thumb and forefinger and cruelly tugging it until it stood pert. His guts began to twist as the hand ground it way down his defined belly to the flatter regions between naval and pelvis. Here, it slowed, easing its way leisurely at a pace that made Finn’s eyes water, creeping closer and closer.

The sensation of another man’s unwanted hand cupping him between the legs sent a feverous shudder through his frame and he cried out but his plea became strangled in his larynx.

‘Does that feel good?’ Corbin’s sneer was so close to Finn he could smell the decay, the carcass stench adding heightened panic to the scenario.

‘No,’ he choked out, gasping as Corbin fingers wrapped around his shaft and began to pump back and forth.

‘Give it time,’ Corbin cooed menacingly. A nasty pain panged from Finn’s ear as Corbin’s teeth bit down on his earlobe. Instinctively, Finn struggled, trying to wrestle himself away from the larger man but the fly was truly caught in the spider’s web. Corbin’s mouth lowered, placing icy kisses behind Finn’s ear and down the side of his neck, sucking and biting the flesh at his pulse.

‘There, you see,’ Corbin’s sneer could be seen in Finn’s peripheral view. ‘You must like it.’ Finn’s ears flushed a deep scarlet as he felt his manhood quiver to life between his legs. He damned his body for betraying him, for giving signs of pleasure when there was none to be had. ‘I see that your maker was more… generous with you that my David’s,’ Corbin grinned as he spied the growing specimen in his palm. ‘This pleases me.’

With his wrists still shackled in one of Corbin’s hand, his manhood in the other, Finn was wrenched away from the door and dragged through an alcove to what his panicked brain deduced was the sleeping quarters of the field marshal. He tried to process what was about to happen to him but terror had truly taken over his mind while his whole body ached with exhaustion and the turmoil of the past two days. The helplessness he felt in that moment frightened him beyond description.

Finn was thrown over the foot of the bed and fell onto a pile of silk linens. Corbin’s skin was instantly against his again, pinning the smaller man down with his bulk. He felt a tickle at his cheek caused by a pelt of wolf fur and he couldn’t stop the bubble of wry laughter at the irony of having a wolf beneath him while another mounted him.

Two of Corbin’s fingers tried to thrust their way into his mouth but Finn was sick of his games and stuffed his face flush against the silken folds of the bed linen beneath him. ‘It’s for your own good,’ Corbin warned him from above. ‘If you’re not properly prepared, you’re the only one that will suffer.’

_Do it_ , Finn’s ragged brain wrung out. _Just do it already._

‘Fine,’ Corbin barked. ‘Have it your way but don’t blame me when you suffer for your insubordination.’

Finn heard Corbin hock up a glob of spittle, felt him adjust himself above him, felt the slick, rock-hard implement of the giant, which had until that moment been rubbing itself against his inner thigh, now position between his cheeks. Inside, he was screaming, his mind as lost as a child in the middle of an earthquake, watching the walls around him crumble, crowds jostling past in a panic, buffeting him aside as the ground itself cracked open.

A strained grunt above him, a grind of hips against his and Corbin was inside of him.

Everything went black. The world toppled down into the earthquake’s crevice. The screaming stopped.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimmer of light in the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Warning - this chapter contains scenes of rape ***

Finn had no idea whether he had slept that night or not. He was caught somewhere between one realm and the other, half of him in some form of slumber, the over very much awake, his mind empty while also racing wildly like mad dogs in a cyclone, his body numb yet pulsing with pain that rocketed up his spine from his lower abdomen, his ears lost in the silence punctuated by the heavy breathing of his master directly behind him. He would feel some kind of peace that would shatter every time his kidnapper twitched or his respiratory pattern changed slightly, terrified that the beast would awake and devour his flesh once more.

He had not been mistaken about the night being long.

After stealing Finn’s virginity, Corbin had assured the young man that they had much more to explore before they could rest. At first, Finn had put up some kind of fight but all this achieved was more pain and before long, he gave himself up entirely, switching every mechanism inside him off to try and numb out the anguish. It didn’t work entirely and he found himself experiencing the whole nightmare from a distance, like an out of body experience, constantly aware of each and every unwanted sensation and stab of agony. Corbin had interpreted Finn’s numbness as acceptance and permitted himself to indulge in every pleasure he could wring from his prisoner’s body, its owner watching on like a silent ghost in the corner of the room.

A single solitary tear beaded at Finn’s eye. He quickly tried to remove the evidence before his kidnapper noticed but his hands were useless, trapped once again in chains that held him fast to the carved headboard.

‘It’s safe to assume I can’t trust you not to try and escape in the middle of the night?’ Corbin had asked him the night before as he applied the shackles.

‘I don’t care about escape,’ Finn had said as he panted through the pain left by his master’s latest intrusion, ‘all I want is to grab your dagger and slit your fecking throat.’

Corbin had merely chuckled as he slid into the sheets and wrapped his anaconda arms around Finn, dragging the Hibernian flush against his chest, cold lips pressing down on his neck.

‘Well then, I’d best make sure you don’t get loose,’ his artic breath teased as his arm muscles tightened.

He had been true to his promise. The giant arms were still wrapped around him, as taut as great chains that held ships to the ocean floor, one titanic hand between his thighs, encasing his privates securely.

With as little movement as he could muster, Finn wiped his eyes on the pillows, not even daring to breath incase it stirred the giant’s slumber. He listened for any change in the air and when none came he dared to relax back into his waking coma. His heart slumped when he felt the grip at his pelvis tighten and a frost bite at his shoulder.

‘Good morning, my little David,’ the wolf at his back grinned as he licked up the side of Finn’s neck. ‘How are we feeling today?’ Finn closed his eyes and tried to shut himself off again as the creature nibbled at his earlobe. ‘No tenderness, I presume?’ A single claw raked over Finn’s shoulder, down across his ribcage and over his hip. ‘No sore spots?’

It was a nasty slap and it hit its target perfectly and a burst of pain exploded up Finn’s spine. The howl that ripped from his throat tore through the air.

‘Just as I thought,’ Corbin’s tone turned drastically from shallow playfulness to cold indifference. ‘I warned you how painful it would be if you didn’t prepare yourself properly. Now, see how you suffer.’ Finn’s whole body was shaking like a sapling in a gale. ‘You only have yourself to blame for this agony. Next time, I expect you to do as you’re told or you will suffer again.’

The bed shifted beneath him as the giant lumbered up onto his feet. Finn tried to ball himself up but another stick of pain exploded inside of him and he gave up, instead focusing desperately on returning back to the numbness he had buried himself in the night before.

The blackness shivered as a heavy door creaked in the near distance. He vaguely heard a shuffle of feet and a rattle of fabric and chose to ignore it, closing his heavy eyelids again.

Suddenly the bed sheets sprung up around him followed by a woman’s scream.

Fully awake now, Finn opened his eyes. With an almighty effort that send shocks of pain through him, he pulled himself up onto one shoulder to take in the intruder and was surprised to find a young woman in her early to mid twenties with a shock of orange hair standing in the corner of the room, her hand over her pounding breast and a terrified look on her face.

‘I am so, so sorry, m’lord,’ she stuttered in a welcoming accent. She was Hibernian, just like him! ‘I had no idea there was anybody in here and I swear I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘Who are you?’ Finn asked, his lungs still getting over the shock of his rude awakening.

‘Me?’ the girl pointed at herself. ‘Why I’m just the maid, m’lord. Come to clear the bedsheets.’

Finn’s heart was slowing back to its normal rate. ‘You need me to move?’

‘I, well, I could come back, m’lord,’ she stopped as Finn waved away her suggestion.

‘It’s ok,’ he told her, barely able to suppress the grunt escaping his lips as he maneuvered onto his side. ‘Just… give me a few minutes.’ Finn ground his teeth as he gingerly eased his way to the edge of the bed. ‘Do you mind if you…?’ He motioned with his finger for the maid to turn around.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ the maid became flustered and began to turn around when she suddenly spun to face him once more. ‘Do you have something to wear? I could fetch it for you.’

‘My breeches should be in the other room,’ Finn told her, flashbacks of the dark brown fabric falling away to his ankles playing over in his mind again and again.

It was only then that Finn noticed the chains that had tethered him to the bed all night had been removed from his wrists while he’d slept, a small mercy from Corbin at least. It proved a weak gesture in atonement for the night before however, for as soon as Finn began to move towards the edge of the bed, the pain jolted to life. The agony plowed through him, paralyzing him as he drowned in its grasp, blood pounding through his ears. It was too much. Every part of him was flaring up, his innards twisting and writhing. Something was tying his lungs into knots and he couldn’t breathe. Flashes of red burst across his vision, making it hard to see. Finn tightly shut his eyes to try and block out the throbbing.

‘M’lord!’ The maid was running to his side, her fingers gently running over his sweaty brow. ‘M’lord, you are hurt. How can I help?’

‘It’ll pass,’ Finn gasped out. ‘Help me up, please.’

The maid pulled the sheet back slightly and he heard her gasp loudly. He creaked open an eye and found her eyeing up the iron collar around his neck, a look of abject horror on her face.

‘Miss?’ he tried to wake her from her shock. ‘Miss?’ The maid forced her eyes up to meet his. ‘Can you please help me up?’

She nodded, her words lost for the mean time. With a surprising display of sturdiness, she hooked her arm underneath Finn’s injured shoulder. At first he gasped at the contact on his wound but as he was lifted into a sitting position, the agony from his lower abdomen obliterated any other pain in his body and he couldn’t keep down the wail of anguish that ripped from his throat.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ the maid spluttered, her face turning pale on seeing how much pain the young man was in. Finn couldn’t bring himself to reply, knowing that if he opened his mouth once more, he would scream again. Instead he held out his hand and nodded profusely, thanking his lucky stars that the maid understood his gesture and helped him up onto his feet. The pressure left his lower abdomen but the pain lingered, throbbing and pulsating in waves. He clutched the silken sheet in his hands, tightly wrapping it around himself.

‘My…breeches…’ he wheezed. The maid replied with a shake of her head.

‘I looked,’ she told him. ‘I couldn’t find them anywhere in the room.’

Finn wanted to cry again but his stepfather’s stern warning kept his emotions at bay. The maid must have noticed the suffering on his face and desperately tried to help.

‘Here,’ she said, grabbing something off the bed, ‘you can put this around you.’

She held the wolf pelt out to him and something inside of Finn snapped. Before he could think, he released a strangled yelp and lashed out, batting the pelt away with a frantic swipe of his arm, falling back against the wall as fear engulfed his heart.

The maid instinctively moved to cover her face with her forearms before realising she was not the one who needed protected. She looked on as the poor, helpless creature in front of her trembled against the stone wall, his chest heaving with the strain of his strained breathing, all four limbs shaking as he murmured sounds that reminded her of an injured pup whining in the streets. Her heart broke for him and she dreaded what terrible acts had befallen this young man.

Slowly, tentatively, she took a step towards him, whispering soft sounds to try and calm him down. She noticed the way his body tensed, how his grip on the silken sheet tightened the closer she got to him. Gently, she patted his weather-beaten hand before guiding it up, pulling the sheet over his shoulders and securing it around him.

‘Keep it for now,’ she cooed softly. ‘Until we find you something to wear.’

‘Th-thank you,’ he whimpered and before he could stop himself, he had fallen against her, snuggling his face into her soft shoulder. The young woman with orange hair stood there, shock-still for a second, before gingerly wrapping her arms around him, holding him close, all while hushing his fears with her soft, lilting voice.

To Finn, for a few short seconds, it felt as if he had his mother back again.

‘You’re shivering,’ the young maid noted. ‘Poor thing, you’re frozen to the bone. Baron Corbin prefers not to have the fire lit until he has returned but I can light it for you now.’

The fear hit again. ‘No,’ he protested. The last thing he wanted was to anger his new master. ‘No, I’ll be fine, thank you.’

The maid looked over her shoulder towards the alcove and an idea came to her. ‘Can you walk?’ she asked.

‘I’ll try,’ Finn replied.

‘I’ll help you.’

Reluctantly, he pulled away from the maid and the warmth of her body. Already, after only one night, Finn had forgotten the heat that came from holding another person close. Shaking his head, Finn tried to focus, tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other. After a while, the distraction helped the aguish to subside a little and his other senses found their bearing again. With the maid by his side, he managed to stumble his way through to the solar room, every single nerve in his lower abdomen twisting and shrieking, grunting as each step produced a raw stab of pain.

He looked around the cold, bare room, the daylight doing little to make the place warm or inviting. From what he’d heard most nobles would try and combat the dampness of the stone walls by throwing up lavish tapestries and piling rugs on the floor. Corbin did neither, in fact, there was little in the room to differ it from a cell down in the dungeons. Only a handful of high-back chairs and a desk in the corner adorned the room with cold grey walls and cold grey floor.

Finn felt his shoulders slump. The tub had been removed from the night before, and, as the maid had noted, so had his breeches, leaving him without a thread to wear bar the heavy iron collar clamped tight around his neck. The metal was as cold as ice, pulsing out a frost through his entire system that engulfed bone and flesh. He might as well have been made of marble like the nasty little statue Corbin cared so much about.

He heard a twitter of bird song. His eyebrows furrowing, he glanced at the maid who only smiled sweetly back and together, they followed the sound, Finn grimacing with each step until they reached a small open door hidden behind a curtain. He gasped as he spied the majestic balcony beyond, stretching the entire width of Corbin’s quarters and overlooking his domain. Finn felt the soft hands of the sun on his face pulling him out of the shadows so that she could fully embrace him. The pain was forgotten in an instant and he allowed the silk linen to slip down his shoulders as his bare feet skimmed across heated stones to the balustrade. Resting his hands upon the granite, he closed his eyes and for a moment, forgot. The pain, the fear, the humiliation. All gone with a snap of the sun’s fingers. Instead he fixated on her fire, felt the ice in his body melt away as the birds sang sweet melodies in his ear.

‘Rest,’ a voice coaxed beside him. In his delight, he had forgotten the kind young woman at his side.

‘Thank you, Miss…,’ his eyebrows knotted in query.

‘Lynch,’ the maid replied with a smile, ‘but you can call me Becky.’

‘Thank you, Becky,’ he beamed at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the late morning. She only nodded in return before heading back inside to finish stripping the bed-linens.

At last, he slept. Lying stretched out on the smooth, sun-warmed flagstones like an old farm cat, bathing in the yellow rays, he managed to switch off completely from the cruel world and the fresh torments she devised for him, his mind a blank slate, wiped clean. He awoke at the first chill of evening, cracking one eye open to see the divine body sinking in the sky, flushing the canvas above him a deep, breath-taking red.

As if one cue, the door to the solar room behind him slammed open and he heard the heavy footsteps of his captor returning. The boots hammered their way through to the bedroom, shuffling around, clearly looking for the young Hibernian before thudding back to the solar. Finn held his breath, hoping that if he remained quiet and still, the wolf wouldn’t be able to find him, but it was a fleeting hope, the only form of hope he had left in his wretched life.

‘Here you are,’ Corbin’s voice boomed above him as the larger man crouched down behind him. Ice cold fingers teased the edge of the silk sheet and drew it away, a violent shiver rocking through Finn as his body was exposed for his master’s pleasure once more. ‘Did you miss me?’

The warming security of the sun disappeared entirely and the cold misery of the night took over as Finn felt Corbin’s fingers weave their way across his bare skin. ‘I missed you,’ Corbin cooed, planting artic kisses across Finn’s jawline. ‘I kept thinking back to last night and all the fun we had. I couldn’t wait to come back to you.’ A freezing cold palm clamped down on Finn’s backside, grasping one cheek tightly. A curious finger slithered between his glutes, softly rubbing against torn, sensitive flesh. Every part of him jolted aggressively but Corbin showed little remorse, instead wrapping his other arm tightly around Finn, pinning the Hibernian flush against his clothed torso.

Any resolve Finn had evaporated into the air and was blown away by the wind. ‘No, please, not again,’ he begged. He could feel the vibrations of Corbin’s chuckle rumbling in the larger man’s chest.

‘You like playing hard to get, don’t you?’ he sneered into Finn’s ear. ‘You know now, don’t you? There’s something you can do to make this a lot less painful and more… _pleasurable_ for you.’

Two of Corbin’s fat fingers lingered in front of Finn, right before the Hibernian’s lips. His hooded topaz eyes gazed sadly upon them, his mind racing in circles like a rabbit caught in a well. He forgot pride, he forgot dignity, both had been stripped from him as effectively as his clothing, all he knew was pain and he was exhausted from pain. He would do anything to stop the anguish, even if that meant selling a part of his soul to the devil.

Parting his lips, he allowed the fingers to slip in.

They spent the night on the balcony. By the end, Finn’s knees were ragged from rubbing against the stone tiles and every tiny flicker of warmth inside him had been extinguished. When he had taken what he’d wanted from his slave for the night, Corbin wrapped his naked body around Finn’s, resting his head at the crook of the Hibernian’s neck and shoulder and fell into slumber, his limbs pinning his captive down like a trawler’s net.

Finn was awake. Trapped on his back, he gazed up at the black abyss above him, feeling as if he were falling away into the darkness. Spinning, plummeting, spiraling away, all sense of control lost. It was then that he spotted it, the small spark of light glinting softly in the sheet of black.

A star.

Polaris, he remembered.

The memory flooded back to him. He was fourteen, still a boy but fancied himself a man. One of the flock had not returned that day, and Finn, deciding foolishly to prove himself (to whom, he never truly fathomed) went out to try and find it. The night had fallen and the dull day had blanketed the sky with clouds, blocking out any illumination from the stars above and after an hour’s search, Finn was not only empty handed but also hopelessly lost. The heavens opened and drenched him as he had stumbled about in the darkness. The rocks beneath him became wet and he fell, twisting his ankle so badly he could barely stand upon it. Curling up under a small overhang of rock, he sat and sobbed like a baby, wishing with all his might that he was back in the safety of the farm house with his mother soothing his hair while his stepfather stoked the fire.

He sat, shivering in a ball until the rain finally eased and looking up, he discovered the clouds had been chased away and above him now were all the jewels of the night sky. One, above all shone the brightest and Finn remembered his mother calling it the Polaris, the northern star.

_If ever you find yourself lost, my little blue-eyed Finn,_ she had said, _just follow the northern star and it will bring you home._

He shuddered up to his feet, his ankle creaking in protest but he had stumbled on regardless. Following the path of the bright entity in the sky. Onwards he trudged through muddy bogs and over rain-sleeked stones until a small spark of red bobbed on the horizon. He thought at first it was some strange dream he was having even though he was awake but when he heard his name being called, he soon forgot his injured ankle and began to run, the tears streaming down his face as he ran straight into his stepfather’s arms.

_It will bring you home._ His mother had been right that time, but could it work every time? What if he couldn’t follow the star, what if the chains holding him were too strong? He fixed his blue eyes on the heavenly body, sparkling like a diamond.

‘You’ll never know unless you try,’ he whispered softly to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A maid prompts a slave to take a chance/ the slave pays the price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little gift for you all today - two chapters! Enjoy!

Becky Lynch groaned moodily and pawed away the sleep in her eyes.

She hated mornings!

She hated having to leave the warmth of the bunk she shared with three other women, all of them fellow house-maids, she hated the chill that gripped her through her nightshirt as she frantically yanked on her simple frock and wimple, she hated the silence of the house, mocking the fact that she had to be up earlier than most of the other servants. But above all, she hated her first task of the day – cleaning out the fireplaces.

There were two dozen in total, most of them barely used yet she was expected to wipe out the ash from each and every one before applying a stack of fresh firewood. It was a filthy task and she always came away with soot stains down her dress, the black smears finding their way onto her face and neck. The worst part was when it stained her hands and no amount of water would shift the stubborn residue out from underneath her fingernails.

It wasn’t that she was vain, far from it, in fact Becky was often mocked for her unkempt appearance, it was more the principle of the thing. Having her on her knees for hours on end in the cold early morning, covered in filth. It reminded her too much of her time on the streets.

She had to bite down her pride, however. She was no longer a street urchin, living day-to-day and hand-to-mouth, she was now a respectable member of Baron Corbin’s household. Here, she had a roof over her head, food in her belly and, most importantly, a wage. It may take a while longer but soon she would have enough money to board a ship and sail far, far away from Hibernia, away from fear and oppression to a strange, exotic country, untouched by the conquering armies of the tilted Cross.

The morning went by at a decent clip, Becky’s sleepiness fogging her mind as clouds of ash misted around her. Late morning, she was permitted to break her fast. As Becky scoffed down her bread and beer, she felt a strange twinge in her belly. She knew why: she had only the Baron’s quarters left to do, and after yesterday, she was concerned about what she would find in there.

After finishing her beer, she picked up her cleaning basket and was about to make her way upstairs when a voice called out to her. She had to stop herself from groaning outwardly as the steward and head of the household, Aiden Anglian bustled over to her. It was never a good sign when he was forced to lower his pointed nose down to acknowledge the lowly housemaids, even less so when he had to address them by name. He had that typical look that all New Worlders had when they spoke to a Hibernian – disgust! As if they couldn’t quite understand why they were sticking around, dirtying up the place. Never heed that it was _their_ country and it was the stuck-up New Worlders who were not welcome.

She was getting angry. She bit down on her tongue to stop her from saying anything reckless.

‘Miss Lynch,’ the tall, skinny man bit out in his pompous voice as he neared her. ‘Are you heading up to the Baron’s chambers?’

‘Aye…’ she started to say but knowing that the local dialect was deemed as sinful as blasphemy to this man she tactfully added ‘..am going there right now, Mr Anglian.’

‘Excellent,’ the head steward gritted around a tight smile. ‘You were there yesterday?’

‘Yes, Mr Anglian.’

‘Ah, then you have met… the Baron’s new cupbearer?’

_Is that what they’re calling them now?_ she mused, bitterly. Thank goodness she was biting her tongue. ‘I did, Mr Anglian.’

‘Good, good.’ The steward looked very uncomfortable admitting the existence of the young Hibernian man locked up in the Baron’s bedchamber. He had always been a holier-than-thou, arrogant pig. A man who could quote great swatches of the Cross’ holy book in droves to any who became trapped in his crosshairs, especially those he felt he must save from sin, whether they wanted him to or not. But as for holding his own actions true to the scriptures, well, that was less consistent. ‘The Baron instructed me to initiate him into the household,’ the steward went on, his chest swelling with pride as he boasted of his employer’s confidence in him, ‘however, my hands are sadly tied so I am entrusting this responsibility to you.’

_Hands are tied? Rather you don’t want to sully them by touching a Hibernian_ , Becky wanted so badly to roll her eyes. _So you’ll send another Hibernian instead – can’t soil something that’s already dirty._ ‘What would you have me do, Mr Anglian?’

‘Bring these to the Baron’s chambers,’ he passed her a neatly folded bundle wrapped in hessian. She had to adjust the basket to her elbow in order to accommodate the new load. ‘It contains his-‘ he was cut off by cough sticking to his throat –‘ _uniform_. Inform him of his duties and most importantly, the _proper decorum_ that we expect of him. He is to represent this house and its master with the utmost dignity and discretion. Do I make myself clear, Miss Lynch?’

_Chrystal, Mr Lickarse._ ‘Yes, Mr Anglian.’

‘Good, Miss Lynch. Here too is some sustenance for the newcomer, make sure he learns that waste will not be tolerated in this house.’ A tray was thrown into her arms next and she staggered under the bulk of her growing load. ‘Well then, get to it.’ He smartly clicked on his heels and was away. Becky finally allowed her eyes to roll back into her skull. Of all the New Worlders she had met in her life, she had never met one she desired so much to choke on a fishbone.

She climbed up the steep stairs and down the winding back passages used only by the serving staff until she reached the vast corridor that lead to the Baron’s chambers. She smiled cheekily, eyeing up the stiff, armour clad figure that stood guard outside the large wooden door.

‘You’re here again, old man?’ she asked the guard with a smirk.

‘For the foreseeable future, apparently,’ the guard replied, his accent betraying his birth in the northernmost regions of Hibernia. ‘How are you today then, lass?’

‘I’ve been better,’ she said, eyeing up the door behind the guard warily. ‘You know, you could have warned me there was somebody in there yesterday.’

The guard looked at her with knotted eyebrows. ‘What? Who’s in there?’

‘You’re not serious,’ she eyed the older man and blurted out a sharp laugh. ‘They have you guarding the door all day and you didn’t wonder why?’

‘They don’t tell me anything,’ the guard shrugged. ‘Think if they shun me enough I’ll finally give up and retire. They underestimate the old Finlay stubbornness.’

Becky smiled up at the older man. David Finlay had been known by several names. Before the invasion he was known as Sir Finlay, a courageous and noble knight in the King’s army. Since being recruited to Baron Corbin’s household, he had become known as Fit Finlay. At first it had been a cruel dig by the younger members of the guard, mocking the former knight’s mature age but over time, he had proven each of them wrong. The man could still go and now the household called him the nickname with respectful fondness.

The only people he hadn’t impressed though were those same guards, all of which were New Worlders and wary of the northern Hibernian. They did everything in their power to try and drive the older man from his post. Becky often worried it would all get too much for the former knight but time-after-time, he showed his grit and bloody-mindedness.

‘It would take a blow from a trebuchet to drive Fit Finlay away from his duty,’ she smiled. He returned it in kind.

‘So, who exactly is Baron Corbin keeping in there?’ he asked.

‘A young Hibernian,’ Becky couldn’t hide the contempt in her voice. ‘A prisoner from his latest conquest, it seems.’

‘A prisoner?’ Fit Finlay furrowed his brow. ‘Prisoners are kept at the castle.’

‘Not this one,’ Becky heaved a sigh. ‘Turns out the Baron is not a eunuch as we suspected.’

The expression on Fit Finlay’s face turned sorrowful. ‘Aww, the poor lass,’ he glanced over his shoulder at the doorway behind him. Suddenly the weight of his duty was heavy on his shoulders.

‘Actually,’ Becky corrected, ‘it’s not a lass.’

‘A boy?’ Fit Finlay gaped at her.

‘A man,’ Becky amended again. ‘Older than me by the look of him.’

‘But Corbin is a man of the Cross!’

‘You know those X-wielders are nothing but liars and frauds. Perverts, the feckin’ lot of them!’ Becky’s scowl turned dark. ‘We’re less than human to those scumbags, not even worth a second glance as they scrape us off the soles of their boots. How many more of us are they goin’ to enslave and rape before-‘

‘Becky! Hush!’ Fit Finlay firmly gripped her upper arms and softly shook her. ‘You know you can’t go around saying stuff like that in here. This house has ears everywhere.’

‘It’s not right!’ she snarled, her fiery hair curling out from under her wimple.

‘It’s not,’ Fit Finlay said with a tired sigh. ‘But you have to be careful or else you’ll end up just like that poor young man in there.’

Becky bit her lip. She hated how repressed she felt. She thought living on the streets was degrading enough, begging on her knees, desperately groveling the feet of any passerby with gratitude for giving her the slightest scraps. At least on the streets, she didn’t have to hide who she was – her anger, her passion. Most would pass her by, true they would comment on the raging drunk most likely on her lunar cycle, but they let her be. Here, even the slightest indiscretion was punished. Here, they grabbed at her with their hundreds of fingers, ripping, shredding whole pieces of her away, yearning to leave nothing behind. She’d be damned if she’d let that happen.

‘Go on in there, lass,’ Fit Finlay interrupted her thoughts. ‘The lad will be hungry. Go give him his meal.’ Becky lowered her head dejectedly, waiting until Finlay unlocked the heavy wooden door and allowed her inside.

She suddenly felt very nervous as she entered the deathly quiet chamber. Carefully placing the tray, hessian package and basket down, she tiptoed daintily over to the alcove leading to the bedchamber. The sun shone brightly through the windows at her back, flooding the backroom in shadow and she had to shuffle closer in order to make out the large four-poster bed.

It was empty.

She was confused at first, wondering if she had dreamt the blue-eyed young man from the day before, but shook the sentiment from her head. It was not her place to ask questions, being the barely educated servant that she was, so instead she set to making up the rumpled bedsheets.

‘Good morning.’

For the second day in a row, she screamed like the Banshee herself, almost jumping a full foot in the air as she spun around, clutching the sheet to her heaving breast.

‘It’s just me,’ the young man stammered. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Then why the feck are you creeping around like a thief in the night,’ Becky scolded as she tried to calm herself down. ‘Sneaking up on innocent young chambermaids like some kind of demon.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, again and she softened on seeing the genuine guilt on his face. ‘I’m just quiet on my feet. I’ve always been that way.’

‘Yes, well,’ Becky slumped onto the bed in order to relax her quivering limbs. ‘Do me a favour and scuff your heels a little when I’m around, ok?’

The dark-haired man smiled softly and Becky felt all of her residual anger evaporate entirely. Now that she could see him properly, he was very handsome, especially with those captivating blue eyes. He stood before her, wrapped in the same sheet she’d given him the day before, looking down at his feet shyly.

‘You’re looking better today,’ she noted, trying to be as delicate as she could. He nodded back softly. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Starved,’ he admitted. ‘And parched. I’ve had nothing since the day before yesterday.’

‘There’s a tray in the other room,’ she explained. ‘It’s all for you so…’

‘Thank you, Miss Lynch,’ the young man bowed his head politely and was about to head through the alcove when the maid called out, ‘it’s Becky, remember’. The dark-haired Hibernian gave that same small smile again. ‘And I’m Finn,’ he said as he disappeared through to the solar.

It didn’t take long to make the bed and dust down the fireplace, which appeared to have not been lit the night before and soon Becky returned to the solar. She quickly located the young, dark-haired man she now knew was called Finn, and paused in her step as she eyed him. He was standing staring out of the window, his skin as pale as the bed-sheet wrapped around him in the pool of sunlight filtering through the glass. She noted the stoop in his shoulders and the subtle trembling of his limbs but, most importantly, she noticed his face. The way his eyes stared away into the distance, his expression a void as he became lost in his thoughts. She felt her heart break for him. She recognised the face of trauma when she saw it; every Hibernian woman did.

She coughed slightly and Finn’s eyes focused back to the room. ‘I’ve been instructed to induct you into your new position,’ she told him.

‘Inducted?’ Finn replied, wariness stretching across his face.

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s doesn’t entail much,’ she reassured him. ‘For now, let’s get you dressed, shall we?’ She fetched the hessian bundle and removed the packaging, handing over a folded piece of linen to the young man.

‘Ummm?’ he queried as he unfurled the item, watching it tumble and drape until it snaked across the floor.

‘Ah, I’ve seen these before,’ Becky leant forward to grab up an end of the long cloth. ‘What did Mr Rhodes call it again? A subli…. _subligaculum_ , that’s it.’ She looked up into the searching eyes of Finn. ‘It’s a type of undergarment. They used to wear them back in the Ancient Lands. Here, let me help you put it on.’

Becky stood up and took a step towards Finn who cringed back, clutching the sheet tighter around him. ‘Oh, come on now. I grew up in a gang full of boys, believe me, there’s nothing under that sheet that I haven’t seen before.’ It took Finn a few seconds to comply and when he finally dropped the concealment, Becky’s face fell with it. ‘Woah,’ she gasped out, as her eyes instinctively explored the young man’s incredible physique, ‘maybe not quite nothing.’ 

Finn’s face flushed a deep red and Becky pulled her gaze away. Now was not the time for unprofessionalism. ‘Hold this, please,’ she ordered Finn, passing him the T-section of the subligaculum which he gladly used to conceal his nudity. Becky then wrapped the two long lengths of the cloth around his waist, securing the undergarment in place. Lastly, she delicately threaded the final, shorter length between his legs and tucked it into the back of the garment. 

‘Thank you, Becky,’ he said once her work was done and she swore she saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. Few could understand the value of a small piece of dignity to one who had had it all ripped away. ‘What’s next?’ 

‘Uh, well…’ Becky said as she searched through the other items in the hessian package. ‘You know, perhaps there is more to come later today if-‘ 

‘This is it, isn’t it?’ he stated with utter despair. 

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Bastards.’ Becky tried to catch his eye but they were lowered to the floor. ‘I’m sure there’ll be more, I mean, when you have to perform your duties as cupbearer, the Baron won’t have you milling around his captains half-naked and-‘ 

‘Cupbearer?’ Finn raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, an expression matching the one she herself had shot at Mr Anglian when he had first mentioned the word. ‘Is that what they’re calling me? Surely slave would be more accurate. Or whore!’ Finn turned back to the window and Becky jumped to her feet, afraid that he would lose himself in his depression again. 

‘You know, in the Ancient Lands, a cupbearer was considered a privileged position.’ Finn looked unimpressed by her attempt to soothe him. ‘It was said that Zeus, the King of the Gods himself, would handpick only the finest men to serve at his side. Mortal kings and emperors followed in his example and had cupbearers to pour their wine and test their food-‘ 

‘How do you know so much about the Ancient Lands?’ Finn turned to her accusingly, suspicion in his piercing blue eyes. 

‘The benefits of an New-World education,’ Becky lowered her head, feeling embarrassed. ‘Meager as it was.’ 

‘Was this from the ‘Mr Rhodes’ that you mentioned?’ Finn enquired, turning his full attention to her. She had caught his interest; clearly there was more to this chambermaid than met the eye. 

‘He was a scholar, history mostly and his passion was the Ancient Lands,’ a small smile appeared on her lips. ‘They all called him Dusty, because he was constantly surrounded by old, dusty books. He was kind to me Took me off the streets, taught me to read and write, or at least enough to keep up an employment. He was the one who recommended me for this position I now hold.’ 

‘That was very good of him.’ 

‘Good of him?’ Becky turned on him, suddenly, fire dancing in her eyes. ‘To leave me here? To serve that monster? 

Finn was stunned by the maid’s outburst at first but soon came to the realisation that, although the young woman before him may not sport a heavy, iron collar around her neck but she was as much a prisoner of her circumstances as he. ‘I’m sorry,’ he lowered his head in shame. 

‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Becky returned his gaze and squinted at him, searching his blue eyes as if seeking his very soul. ‘They say because I have a roof over my head, shoes on my feet and two square meals a day I should be grateful.’ She shook her head, she was wading into dangerous territory now. ‘And I am grateful,’ she continued in a calmer tone, ‘it’s more than I ever had on the streets. It’s just the rules that frustrate me. There’s enough rules in this place to fill a book large enough to bludgeon a full grown man to death with it.’

Finn gave a small laugh at that and in spite of herself, Becky felt the smile lift up her own lips. ‘Well then, Miss Lynch, I mean, Becky,’ he corrected himself as he turned to face her fully. ‘As a new member of this household, I’m all ears.’

‘Firstly, you must eat what’s given you,’ Becky said, handing him the tray of food. ‘All of it. The Baron is kind enough to provide for those in his service and in turn, we show our gratitude by accepting every crumb… or so I’ve been told.’ The last statement was muttered under her breath but from the quirk at the corner of Finn’s lips, he had clearly heard her.

‘”In his service”’ Finn quoted Becky as he lifted the hunk of bread to his lips and began to nibble. ‘What other rules am I to abide by?’

She heard the venom in his tone but chose not to indulge it, for both of their sakes. ‘Ach, there’s time for that later,’ she said, waving her hand as she took a seat on one of the dark, high-back chairs. ‘For now, tell me more about you. Where do you come from?’

‘South of here, beyond the mountains,’ the man answered, politely lowering the scrap of pork in his hand from his mouth. ‘Near a small village called Bray.’

‘A village?’ Becky noted with interest. ‘Must be a shock coming here to the city.’

‘In more ways than one,’ the man replied, gnawing on his meat. ‘How about you? Are you from Dubhlinn?’

‘Born and bred,’ she returned with a board smile. ‘If you every need to know the lay of the land, just call on me.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ the dark-haired man smiled sadly at her, as he finished off the last of the scraps on his plate, ‘but I doubt I’ll see anywhere outside of this room.’

‘Let me see what I can do about that,’ she said with all the slyness of a fox but that only succeeded in tensing Finn up again.

‘Miss Lynch, uh…Becky,’ he said, shoving his tray aside and crouching down in front of her. ‘Please, I beg you, don’t go putting yourself in harm’s way. Not for _my_ sake, I was only a lowly farm boy before, now I’m nothing more than chattel.’

‘Finn,’ she leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on his bare knee. It quivered like a baby bird beneath her touch. ‘You and I, we are the new generation of Hibernians. We have spent our entire lives under the yoke of the new regime, we have no notion of what came before, of when Hibernia and her people were free. We have been quashed under the wheel of their rule so that we may serve on our knees. Taught from the womb to be afraid of them. Made to feel less than them.’

Finn was staring wide-eyed at her now and Fit Finlay’s words were reverberating around her head. _The walls have ears. The walls have ears._ Then let them listen, she mused.

‘These people take and they take from Hibernia,’ Becky stated, fixing Finn with a fierce gaze while the dark-haired man absorbed every single word. ‘They pillage from her fields, hunt down the wild beasts in her forests and now they are stealing away her own people for their twisted means.

‘And what do we do? We accept. Because that’s what they’ve been teaching us to do since birth.

‘Well I say, no more. No more ‘yes m’lord or no m’lord’, it’s time we started taking back what is ours. It’s time that we Hibernian rise up in arms together and fight.’

Becky lingered longer than she intended in the Baron’s quarters, talking to Finn. She discovered in a short space of time that she really liked the blue-eyed farmer’s boy from beyond the mountains. He was witty and intelligent for his station in life, and held himself with a quiet dignity that relaxed her. She found herself missing his company the remainder of the day.

Her thoughts turned to him as she retired to her bunk that night, thinking of the words she carelessly spouted to him. For a fleeting moment, she feared that she had acted rash but she had looked deep, down into his eyes. She had seen the pain, the anguish, the fury. She had found a kindred spirit in him - of that she was certain - and she knew she could trust him not to betray her.

Checking carefully that her bunkmates were soundly asleep, Becky stole to a quiet corner of the room and crouched low into the shadows. Experienced fingers dislodged the loose panel from the tiled wall, revealing a tiny hollow beyond where Becky kept her most treasured possession.

Right from the start of her employ, she had squirrelled away every coin she made, locking them up safely in a trinket box she’d adopted when she was nine after some spoilt rich kid had thrown it out of a carriage window. It had been hammered out of tin and lovingly hand-painted with scenes of mounted soldiers rushing bravely into battle. On the underside of the lid, the artist had inscribed in white paint:

_‘Loyalty, hustle, respect. Lots of love, Uncle John’_

She only knew this because she’d asked Mr Rhodes. After he had read it out loud for her, the young Becky’s brow had creased. When she queried what the words meant the kind, older man explained them all in the simplest terms he could.

‘Loyalty is when you stay true to somebody,’ he’d explained, ‘you never leave them behind. Hustle means you work hard to make your dreams come alive. Respect is when you treat others with kindness, especially those who need it most.’

‘And love?’ Perhaps it was her naivety that made the kind, older man’s shoulder droop, perhaps her huge brown eyes staring innocently up at him, whatever it was, he smiled softly, crouched down in front of her and pointed a finger towards her chest.

‘You feel love in there,’ he told her, ‘a strong feeling that takes over you, like a fire.’

‘Sounds scary,’ she noted and he chuckled gently.

‘Sometimes it is,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s also warm and comforting. We all need love in our lives. This Uncle John of yours said ‘lots of love’ so he must love you very, very much.’

She never told him that she had no Uncle John, that the sentiment on the inside of the lid was stolen as much as the box itself. In spite of this, she grew to care deeply for Uncle John. He was the only family she’d ever had.

She placed the trinket box back into its secret hollow and returned its concealment.

_Soon_ , she thought to herself, _soon I will have enough saved and I will board the first boat out of here._ She didn’t know where she would go, didn’t care, as long as it was far, far away from the Isles, away from the rule of the New Worlders.

Only then, would she finally understand what it felt like to be free.

She found herself almost giddy with eagerness to see Finn the next day. Passing by Fit Finlay standing at his usual post outside the door, she exchanged small pleasantries before entering the Baron’s chamber, only to find no sign of the blue-eyed Hibernian. Remembering her previous two encounters with the older man, she decided it wise to call his name and found herself concerned to hear him answer weakly with a groan from the bed chamber. Her heart in her throat, she hurried through the alcove and was met with a scene that wrought the colour from her skin.

Finn was slumped against the foot of the bed, both of his wrists forced above his head and bound so tightly to the bedpost that his hands had turned purple. He looked dazed and in immense pain. The closer she got, she began to notice rivers of blood at internals all over his body.

‘Hell’s teeth, Finn,’ she cursed as she crouched next to him. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘My-my hands,’ Finn gasped out, his eyelids too heavy to open for her. ‘I can’t feel my hands.’

‘The bonds are too tight,’ Becky cried, as she tried to yank his wrists loose. There was blood gushing between his fingers. ‘FINLAY! FINLAY! IN HERE! HURRY!’

Her cry brought the old knight from his post. As soon as he spied the scene in front of him, he froze, his mouth agape. ‘Dagda, Lir and Neit,’ he muttered to himself until Becky’s scolding brought him back to his senses.

‘Finlay, cut those binds with your dagger.’ Becky crouched in front of Finn and held his face in her palms, trying to rouse him from his stupour. ‘We’ll get your free, Finn, just hold on a little while. Tell me what happened.’

‘I tried to fight, Becky,’ Finn smiled weakly at her. _Oh no._ Becky felt her heart falter. ‘I tried… and I failed.’

‘What did you do? Tell me?’ She clutched his face tighter in her palms, feeling the clamminess of his skin against hers.

‘After you left, I was restless,’ Finn confessed, running his tongue over his dried lips, trying to moisten them. Becky, seeing his discomfort, fetched a pitcher of water and aided him in taking some small sips to lubricate his parched throat. ‘Everywhere I went,’ he continued, his voice stronger after drinking his fill, ‘I found bad memories lurking there. I couldn’t face this room, the solar was no better and as for the balcony, which until two nights ago had been my refuge, it held no more security for me. I wandered restless as the spirit of a man buried at a crossroads.

‘I found the package you brought in earlier and grew intrigued as to the rest of its contents. I found inside a bar of scented soap, a small square rag… and a razor blade.’

Becky froze in the middle of soothing cool water over Finn’s head to help revive him further. ‘Oh gods, Finn, tell me you didn’t-‘

‘My first night here,’ Finn went on, passing over her comment, ‘my _‘master’_ informed me that he expected me to keep my own personal hygiene, including removing every inch of my body hair-‘ (above, Fit Finlay coughed abruptly to cover his unease) – ‘hence the blade. But the moment I held that cold metal in my hand and ran my finger along the edge and felt its bite, I remembered the words you’d said to me and saw my chance to fight back.’

Fit Finlay shot Becky a scolding glare and the redhead deliberately kept her gaze adverted; guilt was already weighing heavily on her shoulders without his rebuke.

‘I didn’t stand a chance,’ Finn sighed. ‘He’s too big, too strong for me and he overpowered me as effortlessly as a hawk to a rabbit. He dragged me into this room, bound my hands and informed me that before the dawn, I would finally know my place.’

‘There!’ Fit Finlay’s knife sawed through the last of the bindings, cutting off Finn’s story. He placed a gentle hand around Finn’s wrists as he removed the rope that had been so tightly wound that some of it had cut into the younger man’s skin. At places, it required a firm, sickening tug to untangle the cord from the dried blood. Once all the rope had been removed, he softly lowered Finn’s arms into his lap and Becky set to work, rubbing the feeling back into the numbed, blue limbs.

Finlay took in the sight of the pair of them, the feisty maid with the head of fire that he’d grown to care for like a daughter these past few years and the young, pale-skinned man, tinkering on the edge of consciousness. He felt something curl in his stomach as it dawned on him that this was the first time he had laid eyes on the charge he’d been tasked with guarding, despite having been in this position for three days now. A wave of remorse hit him at his cowardice; it had been easier to keep the young man imprisoned when he didn’t have to attribute a face or name to him. Now he could see him, he couldn’t stop thinking of his own son (although much younger in age) and how he would feel if he had been stolen away and abused in such a manner. It sickened him to his stomach.

‘I’m sorry t’interupt you, lad,’ he placed a comforting hand on Finn’s shoulder. The dark-haired man turned his face to him, silently showing his gratitude for the former knight’s help. ‘Please continue.’

‘He cut you,’ Becky forced out, cradling Finn’s hands in her own. Now that she could see them, she could clearly make out the myriad of red slashes, each one embedded between the base of his fingers and thumb on both hands.

‘He did,’ Finn confirmed for her, his gaze becoming distant at the memory. ‘With the very razor blade I had tried to use on him. He was clever though, he didn’t want to mark his precious ‘David’ with more scars so he chose places where his work could not be easily seen. Between my fingers, between my toes, the soles of my feet, under my nails, the crook of my knees and elbows, the skin at the base of my ears…’ Becky searched everywhere he mentioned and found more of the nasty, jagged lacerations expertly placed by the cruel Baron.

‘He tortured you,’ Fit Finlay let out a jagged breath, his voice about to break. ‘He didn’t choose those places by accident, lad and it wasn’t just to hide his work, as you say. These areas are known to any soldier; where the skin is soft and sensitive so pain is more acutely felt. They’re the very same areas you would target to wrench information from an enemy.’

‘Oh, Finn…’ Becky felt tears running down her face. ‘This was all my fault. I am so, so sorry. Please, _please_ forgive me!’

‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Finn smiled weakly at her, mirroring her words from the day before. ‘A small consolation, Corbin was so engrossed in his work last night that it did not cross his mind to force himself on me, at least.’

Both Becky and Fit Finlay let out a strangled wheeze. Even in his current circumstance, the young man was brave enough to try and find a shimmer of silver lining in his torment.

‘Becky, go stoke the fire,’ Fit Finlay politely ordered the redhead. She was about to protest, fearing for the Baron’s wrath when he cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘I will explain to the Baron,’ he reassured her. ‘Warm him up, clean and tend to his wounds then stay with him a while. I will fetch everything you need as well as some food and ale for the lad.’

After making sure, Becky had absorbed his instructions, the old knight turned to leave when he heard a voice calling for him.

‘Finlay, is it?’ the young man enquired from the floor.

‘ _Sir_ Finlay,’ Becky corrected him, proudly puffing out her chest.

The old knight chuckled with good-humour. ‘Folks call me Fit Finlay nowadays.’

‘Well, Sir Finlay,’ Finn replied, a small smile on his lips as he shakily raised his hand, only now beginning to feel the blood flow through his fingers again. ‘Thank you for you kindness.’

Fit Finlay felt like a traitor, felt like he didn’t deserve such an accolade from the young man he had gravely forsaken but he accepted the handshake nonetheless. For a brief second, as he gazed into the young man’s vibrant blue eyes, he felt a flare rocket through his brain, a sudden flash of nostalgia, but he shook the foolish sentiment away.

‘Becky mentioned that your name is Finn?’ he asked, searching the young man’s face as he nodded his head ‘yes’. ‘A fine name,’ he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you hadn't picked up on it, the steward is actually Aiden English - but since 'England' isn't the name of the country in this universe, I had to change his name to Aiden Anglian.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soldier notices a decline and decides to act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [Finn](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Slave-Finn-834962239) wearing his cupbearer attire (just out of view is Seth having one of those anime nose-bleeds!)

Seth felt the nerves course through his body as he steered his horse into the gates of Baron Corbin’s private residence. Five weeks! It had been five whole weeks since he had handed Finn over to Corbin’s care at the docks. Time has swept past like the rushing of a swollen river and no doubt, it had changed so much in the wake of its currents. He found himself torn between his emotions; while a part of him was elated to be reunited with the captivating young man he’d met back at the lonely farm at the foot of the mountains, an equal part of him was terrified at the prospect of what he would find.

The only clues he had to go on were those from Corbin and in truth, the usually sullen, foul-tempered Baron had been of a milder manner the past few weeks, some would even say light-hearted. Apart from the one time, some two or three days after returning from their mission south when Corbin had stormed into the castle in a black mood, he had been, on the whole, more fair on his men and less inclined to bouts of grueling drills and unnecessary punishments.

Seth was cut from his thoughts as he felt the presence of a horse sidling up next to his, its rider eyeing him menacingly. ‘Well, just look at you, Rollins,’ McIntyre taunted out the corner of his mouth. It had been ‘Rollins’, not ‘Seth, lad’ since their return. ‘Quivering like a blushing bridge on her wedding night. You excited to see your pretty, little Hibee again?’ Seth cringed at the slur. Every since meeting Finn, he had felt the effect of that degrading word more and more. ‘Me too,’ McIntyre went on, despite Seth not biting at his remarks. ‘Can’t wait to see the work Corbin’s done on him. Perhaps now, when I tell him to suck me off, he’ll get on his knees and smile up at me while he takes my cock into his mouth.’ Seth coaxed his horse to go quicker in order to escape McInyre’s gruff laughter.

The head steward, a man who, by all appearances, was in dire need of a hearty meal and some time in the sun, welcomed the party of four at the door, showing in all three officers (and Lionel Rush) to the Baron’s banqueting hall. The master of the house soon joined them and a four-course meal was presented, each serving more miserable than the last. Seth was disappointed to see no sign of Finn among the staff, a sense of fear setting in that he may not see the Hibernian as he had hoped.

After finishing the last of their courses, Field Marshal Corbin lead them all through to a solar aft from the dining hall. The fire was roaring in the hearth as they all took up a chair and began to relax. Corbin lifted his hand and clicked his fingers curtly, calling for wine to be poured and it was at this very moment that Seth finally laid eyes on Finn.

The scene just about stole his breath away.

The first thing he noticed was his grooming. Gone was the mop of dark brown hair atop his head, now neatly trimmed with the sides and back shaved and a spiral of soft spikes sweeping across his crown. His chin was freshly shaved and it wasn’t the only part of him as smooth as a newborn.

Almost every inch of Finn’s god-like physique was on display; the only stitch he sported being a type of ancient athletic support around his waist, decorated with a drape of luxurious fabric in the shade of granite (the colour of the Corbin family banner) and fastened in place by a leather belt around Finn’s waist. He wore no shoes on his feet as was the custom for a slave, and his position was only heightened by the presence of the collar around his neck. Yet, as Seth observed, it was not the large, unsightly bulk of iron that had been bolted into place that day in Bray, but a new, more delicate article, intricately decorated with duel wolf heads and spiraling lines mimicking the torcs that ancient Islanders would wear around their necks. What really caught Seth’s attention though, was that the collar appeared to be made out of gold. Baron Corbin was a known miser, and even though he was head of one of the richest families in the New World, he grudged spending a single coin. To have splashed out on such an extravagant gift, especially one that appeared custom made for its wearer sent a clear and vital message.

This is mine and mine alone.

Seth’s judgement was proven correct almost instantaneously. As Finn ghosted between the officer, his feet having lost none of their silent grace, McIntyre openly ogled the handsome youth and while Finn had poured from his urn into the Caledonian’s cup, McIntyre chanced to slink his fingers up the back of the Hibernian’s thigh and edge his way under the granite coloured fabric. Finn barely had time to flinch at the intrusion when his master cut in with a warning growl.

‘Keep your hands to yourself, McIntyre,’ he snarled viciously, ‘or I will have them separated from your wrists.’ The potent threat and the deathly expression on the field commander’s face was enough to spook the Caledonian who removed his wandering digits immediately.

Finally, Finn came to pour Seth’s wine and for a brief instant, the topaz blue eyes bore directly into Seth’s, stealing what little breath the junior captain had left in his lungs before they lowered themselves to the floor and Finn retreated to his master’s side. Seth’s eyes followed the sculpted back of the Hibernian as he poured Corbin’s cup until he spotted the field marshal glaring darkly at him and Seth averted his gaze obediently.

All waited until Finn took the first sip from his master’s chalice, every man waiting to see if the young slave would drop dead through foul play but when the wine proved safe to drink, they all took a deep gulp. Corbin nodded his head and Finn retired to the corner of the room.

Conversation turned to business. Corbin had been given his latest orders and soon his contingent would be riding South, much further than their last mission, to the far reaches of the island. There, they would need to collect taxes for the King and to quell any signs of unrest. It would be a long mission, he reckoned three or four months. During the field marshal’s briefing of his plans, Seth’s eye kept wandering over to Finn but the young Hibernian stood submissively at the side, his eyes turned down and only moved when he was needed to refill a cup. Seth found he couldn’t quite stomach the wine and, much to his dismay, didn’t need another top-up.

Once business had been concluded, the evening turned to merriment. McIntyre had brought dice with him and although it was considered highly blasphemous by the Cross’ standards, every man in the room, particularly their host, was partial to a spot of gambling. The table was pulled between them and the bets placed, the game growing rowdier with every win or loss, only heightened by the freely flowing wine.

Eventually Finn’s urn ran dry and he excused himself from the room to refill from the cellar. Seth, seeing his opportunity, waited a few nervous minutes before purposely losing his hand and asking Corbin for the location of the privy. His host was far too engrossed in the game, locked in a high stakes wager with Lashley and waved the junior officer in the general direction, which Seth gladly took as an excuse to follow the cupbearer’s trail.

He found Finn waiting for him, his urn already full as he leaned back against the wall. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he saw Seth approach and immediately the pair embraced, locking their right hands up as if making a Binding Vow and pulling each other in close to wrap an arm around the other’s shoulders. Seth felt a shudder of excitement rake up his spine on feeling Finn’s warm, bare skin against his arm.

‘It’s good to see you again, Seth,’ Finn beamed at the younger man as they disentangled themselves from each other, Seth more grudgingly that Finn.

‘You too,’ Seth grinned, ‘although I have to admit, I was terrified for what I might find.’

‘Had you come my first few days here you would have found a different story,’ Finn informed him gravely. ‘It took some… adjusting to my new life here. Fortunately I have made friends who have kept me going.’

‘Friends?’ Seth’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

Finn nodded. ‘A young maid called Becky meets with me every morning to keep me company. And a knight from the old regime, Sir Finlay, who guards me when my master is away, takes me out for exercise once a day. We run together around the grounds, making quite the pair.’

‘I’m glad,’ Seth smiled warmly, hoping the envy didn’t show in his features.

‘I’ve done as you’ve said,’ Finn went on eagerly. ‘I’ve learned to bide my time and wait. So when shall we break the siege?’

Seth’s words failed him. He stammered slightly, trying to find a way of dealing the harsh truth to Finn but the Hibernian had already fathomed this by his reply, or lack of. ‘I am to wait longer,’ he said, lowering his head.

‘Only for a little while,’ Seth tried to comfort the crestfallen creature, ‘I will be away on this mission in the South for a while. Like I said, we have to wait for the right moment or else this could blow up in our faces.’

‘I understand,’ Finn turned up his gaze, the smallest of smiles on his perfect lips. ‘Truthfully, it will not be difficult since my master will be away too.’

Seth’s eyes wandered over Finn’s features, trying to breath in the beauty of the man in, paint a picture to keep with him on the long, lonely road South. As his gaze fell on both topaz eyes and pink lips, down the clean jaw, he studied the intricate gold band around the strong but graceful neck.

‘This is new,’ he noted, ‘may I?’ Finn nodded and allowed Seth to lift the collar for a closer inspection, admiring the two wolf heads positioned at Finn’s throat, the intertwining strands of gold snaking their way around the older man’s neck. ‘Quite the craftsmanship.’

‘It was a gift from my master,’ Finn said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘As a reward for my good behavior.’

‘How is he treating you, Finn?’ Seth released the collar and returned his gaze to meet Finn’s but the Hibernian had looked away, his features turning grim.

‘He… doesn’t abuse me,’ the older man said after a long pause. ‘He feeds me well and allows me time to get outside for exercise and fresh air. The rest of the time though…’ the pink lips pursed, trying to find the right words. ‘He’s not a man for sentiment. Other than to praise my looks, he doesn’t offer much in the way of conversation, in fact, he barely takes me on. If it weren’t for Becky and Sir Finlay, I would be half-mad from a lack of companionship.’

So much was stammering through Seth’s heart, words of comfort and anger, words of frustration but all that he could prize from his lips were ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘None of this rests on your shoulders, Seth,’ Finn told him as he picked up his urn and prepared to return to the party. ‘Apart from my release.’

Seth watched the toned, pale back of the Hibernian as he slipped his way silently back down the corridor, breathing out a staggered sigh. ‘And that is the biggest burden of all.’

* * *

Seth flew down the hillside, his horse’s flanks foaming beneath him and with a burst of relief he spied the black houses of Dubhlinn below.

‘Come on, girl,’ he patted the side of the mare’s neck before digging his heels in to speed her up for the last leg of their journey. The sweat was pouring down his face and his body was numb with agony from the long, hurried ride but his target was in sight and once he’d completed his mission, he would be able to rest.

He sped down the crowded streets of the port town, barking out warning to wayward pedestrians that crossed the path of his flying horse. Twisting and turning down the winding ways, he finally arrived at his destination.

‘OPEN THE GATES!’ he commanded. ‘OPEN THE GATES!’

A guard’s face appeared over the wall, eyeing the intruder with scrutiny but once he made out the crimson tunic Seth sported, he complied, instructing the opening of the huge wooden doors that guarded the entrance of Baron Corbin’s private abode. Seth only waited for a gap big enough to fit him before bursting through, cantering down the courtyard past perplexed servants until he reached the main doors of the building. The thin, pasty steward from before was beckoned to meet him.

‘Milord,’ the steward furrowed his eyebrows at Seth, noting the disheveled state of the junior officer. ‘Have you been on the road long?’

‘For three days solid,’ Seth replied, handing the reigns of his exhausted horse over to a stable boy. He fondly patted her side. ‘She never stumbled once. Give her a good rub down and feed. She will be exhausted.’

‘As I’m sure you are too, Milord,’ the steward continued, motioning for Seth to step inside. ‘But, if you pardon my ignorance, why have you come here and not the castle? The Baron is not at home.’

‘I’ve been sent with orders,’ Seth explained as he was shown into the dining hall and placed next to the roaring fire with an ale in hand. ‘Field Marshall Corbin is on his way back, should arrive before sunset. He has been gravely wounded.’

‘Gravely wounded?’ the steward aped, his face somehow turning a shade paler. ‘What ails him?’

‘An arrow to the knee,’ Seth took a hearty sip of the ale, feeling it cool his parched throat. The effects of riding hard for three days straight were hitting him like a cannon-blast but he still had duties to attend to. The ale was helping to revive him.

‘Pfft, a trifle,’ the steward waved away any concern of his employer. ‘The Baron is young and hardy. He will recover in due time.’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ Seth finished the last of the ale and placed it down by the fire. ‘But he wishes to have his chambers prepared for his return. The healer has insisted he confine himself to his bed until the wound heals. Take me there.’

Seth could see the hesitation in the man’s manner, the way his eye twitched with inner conflict and immediately Seth knew the reason why. ‘The cupbearer,’ he said and pushed down a wave of anger at the look of disgust on the steward’s face. ‘I understand he too abides in the Baron’s chambers. Will he assist me in the preparations?’

‘He will,’ the pale man bit back. ‘But I will also send the chambermaid with fresh sheets.’

Seth thanked the weasel-like man before being taken upstairs to the Baron’s private quarters. As he mounted the stairs, he felt those same tingly nerves start to grasp him. He never quite understood how Finn managed to bring out these feelings in him. He had stood on battlefields opposite blood-thirsty savages, each of them hell-bent on cleaving him in two, he had seen close friends die before his very eyes, felt the bite of countless blades, yet not once did he feel the same level of stress that afflicted him whenever he encountered Finn face-to-face.

_I stand by my conclusion,_ he smiled to himself, _he is no mere mortal but a being of powerful magic._

That magical spirit was waiting for them beyond the door, having watched Seth’s arrival from the balcony. Once Seth had dismissed the steward, the pair embraced as they had two months ago.

‘You look…’ a thousand word thudded through Seth’s head. Mesmerising, beautiful, breathtaking. In the end he opted for ‘…good.’

‘Wish I could say the same for you,’ Finn chuckled back, his topaz eyes sweeping over Seth’s unkempt appearance. ‘I never realised how thick your hair is.’ Glancing in the looking glass above the mantle, Seth noted his wild tame of frizzy hair, puffing out in every direction and draping over his face to mix with his overgrown beard.

‘It’s more of a curse than a blessing,’ he sighed as he grabbed the streak of golden locks on the right side of his face and pulled it back behind his ear. ‘Finn, Corbin has been hit in the knee with an arrow and is returning to recover from his injuries tonight.’

‘Then we best be quick,’ Finn nodded. ‘Our best chance out of here is down the back stairs and out through the stables. Have you anything for me to wear so we don’t attract attention to-‘

‘What are you talking about?’ Seth narrowed his eyes at Finn with confusion.

‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’ Finn stepped in towards the road-weary solider, his pale palms resting on Seth’s shoulders. ‘This is our moment. To get as far away from here as possible.’

‘Finn…’

‘You said it yourself, Corbin is injured,’ Finn went on and the wide smile on his features shattered Seth’s heart. ‘He won’t be able to come looking for me once I’m gone. And the servants will be too busy preparing for his return to notice me slip away.’

‘Finn…’ Seth gently grabbed Finn’s hands and pulled them off of him, holding them in front of his chest. He felt a pull on his lips and wanted desperately to kiss those weather-beaten digits of the former farm boy but he found enough restraint and instead held them tightly in his gloved hands. ‘This is not the right moment.’

‘Yes it is,’ Finn argued back. Seth lowered his gaze, he couldn’t bear to look into those two, glistening eyes of blue that were fixed on him desperately. ‘This is the best chance we’ve had.’

‘Say you get away,’ Seth went on, refusing to look up, ‘do you really think that Corbin will forget you? He may not be able to pursue you himself but he will send parties after you. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, the lowest filth of the human race and they will scour the land for you, leave no stone unturned. Finn, there will be no safe place for you and when they find you…’

‘They won’t! I will-‘

‘ _When_ they find you, they won’t treat you with the indifference that Corbin does.’ Seth shuddered, he knew first hand what kind of men mercenaries were, he had seen the results of their depravity for himself. ‘I’m sorry, Finn. I won’t allow it.’

With a growl, Finn jerked his hands out of Seth’s grip and stepped back. Seth couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t face the look of hurt and betrayal that marred his features. The pair stood in silence, both unwilling to breach the tension when the door opened and a young woman entered, with fiery orange hair, juggling a bundle of fresh sheets in her hands. She paused instantly on spying the scene before her, clearly realising she had interrupted something important.

‘I…I was told to bring fresh sheets?’ she stammered, his eyes wandering over to Finn. Seth finally allowed himself to glance towards the Hibernian and saw how his shoulders had relaxed slightly and the anger in his face softened. He felt a pang of jealously in his gut as he figured this was the maid of which Finn had spoke.

‘Yes, thank you… uh, Becky is it?’ Seth tried his best to smile at the young woman.

‘That is correct, m’lord,’ she returned. If she was surprised that Seth knew her name, she didn’t show it. She had a bit of spark about her, a quality that he admired in others. He had seen it in Finn that first night they had met in the farmhouse. ‘I’ll make up the bed for the Baron’s return.’

He thanked her as she disappeared through the alcove into the bedchamber. The maid’s departure left a gaping void left unspoken between the two men and Seth didn’t know how to pick up the conversation again.

‘Listen, Finn, I…’ he tried to reach out a hand towards the older man but Finn shrugged away from his touch.

‘What would you have me do, m’lord,’ Finn uttered, the tone of his voice wounding Seth as effectively as a knife to his belly.

‘Finn, please…’

‘We haven’t long until my master’s return,’ Finn turned his back and made his way through the alcove. I’ll prepare the fire. If you need anything else from me, m’lord, you know where to find me.’

Baron Corbin’s carriage hurtled through the gates as dusk was falling and he was in a foul mood as he was shown to his bedchambers. His men had insisted they carry him but he refused, screaming at them that he was not a babe and instead leaned on his men’s shoulders as he hobbled his way up the stairs. He brushed past Seth without even a sideways glance, the junior officer waiting until his commander was safely in bed before he decided to make his departure. As he walked through the alcove into the solar room, he spied Finn standing patiently in the corner by the window. For a brief second their eyes met, and he swore he saw a modicum of remorse in the Hibernian’s topaz eyes. He opened his mouth to speak when Baron screamed out ‘DAVIIIID!’ from his bed. Seth furrowed his brows at the name but Finn jumped to attention and hurried through to his master’s side.

The next time he saw Finn was two weeks later when Seth dropped by to enquire about the Baron’s state of health and the steward informed him that he was recovering well but still confined to bed. Seth could read between the lines, noting the haggard creases in the steward’s face, how he didn’t permit Seth to enter the house and almost pushed him back towards his horse.

Corbin was clearly proving to be a difficult patient.

Seth mounted his horse, preparing to make his way back to the castle when he chanced to look up at the balcony of his commander’s chambers. He spied the figure standing, with his forearms leaning on the balustrade and he recognised those leanly muscled arms lined with porcelain skin any day. He wished to call out, grab the young Hibernian’s attention but the guilt from their previous encounter reared up and instead he decided to leave him be. It was at that moment that Finn, as if reading his very thoughts, turned to face him and Seth choked up on seeing nasty, dark patches circling Finn’s left eye and cheek. _Bruises!_ His heart sank as he discovered Finn was bearing the brunt of his master’s frustrations.

That would be the last he saw of Finn for six months.

Time sped by and though the young Hibernian was never far from Seth’s thoughts, no further opportunity arose for them to meet. Corbin slowly recovered from his injuries and returned to his duties, relying heavily on a stick to support his wounded knee. His mood, however, never improved and he remained as cold and sullen as he was on his sickbed, even towards his own men. Whenever he lashed out at a wayward recruit, Seth found himself picturing Finn on the balcony, black bruises marring his perfect, pale skin.

It came as a shock to all three men when he, McIntyre and Lashley were summoned to the Baron’s private abode that night. No lavish meal was presented this time, just a measly course of watery soup with stale bread before they were once again shown into the private solar. The fire had not been lit and the room was so cold, every man could see their breath forming in the cold air before them.

It took several minutes for Seth to realise Finn was in the room. In spite of the cold, he still sported the same attire, _subligaculum with granite drape and gold collar, only the grey fabric looked worn and frayed while the collar was in desperate need of a polish. Finn was as clean kept as ever, albeit with a small amount of stubble lining his sculpted jaw._

_But what really grabbed Seth’s attention were Finn’s eyes._

_Gone was the brilliant brightness of the topaz, the vivid blue of the summer day had dimmed into a grey winter’s morn, where the clouds had suffocated the sky and left the world cold and dark. No light danced in them, no cheeky glimmer. It was as if somebody had snuffed out the spark inside of Finn._

_He poured the drinks without so much as a tilt of his head, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor, his expression as grave as his masters. Now that he could see the change in the Hibernian, Seth could read it all over him. His countenance, his movement, even his skin seemed to have turned a shade of grey, making him resemble a slap of cut marble._

After taking the customary first sip (Seth observed how long Finn swirled the wine in his mouth as if _longing_ for the drink to be poisoned), he went to stand at the side of the room when Corbin snapped his fingers at him and pointed down at his boots. Lowering his head further, Finn placed his urn on the tabletop and went to his knees, settling himself at Corbin’s feet. Immediately, Corbin’s fingers were entangled in Finn’s hair, grabbing at it ruthlessly in a show of manic possession. Finn closed his eyes, his eyebrows twitching now and again at the discomfort of his master’s rough handling.

Seth watched the whole scene unfold, feeling something horrendous curl in the pit of his gut.

‘I called you all here for a reason,’ Corbin declared, his fingers never loosening their grip on his slave. ‘I’ve received a summons from King Hunter, the first of his name and on the morn, I will travel across the water to Londinium to meet with His Majesty.’

‘A great honour,’ Lashley nodded his head with approval.

‘It is,’ Corbin agreed though his voice held no enthusiasm. ‘But there is more. I have heard rumours that High Constable Angle is not reaching the standards that His Majesty expects. I believe they will be removing him from his position.’

‘Then who will be taking his place?’ McIntyre asked without thinking earning a look of disdain from his commander.

‘You believe this is the reason for your summons,’ Seth piped up and Corbin’s eye shifted to him. Finn gasped out as the grip on his hair became unbearable. ‘You believe they will appoint you High Constable?’

‘I do,’ Corbin replied. ‘With the Supreme Emperor’s son busy with Admiral Bryan overseeing the Blue Fleet, that leaves the only competitors being Field Commander Orton in Caledonia, Field Commander Cena in Anglia and your old friend Field Commander Reigns in Cambria. Orton is hardly keeping those braided-haired savages in the North under control’ (McIntyre tensed at the insult, traitor to his people thought he may be, he was still of Caledonian blood), ‘Reigns is still new to his position and Cena, well, he has grown stale in the role. I believe I am a strong contender for the position.’

‘Then we congratulate you on your coming promotion,’ Lashley bowed his head respectfully. ‘I would propose a toast but my cups runs dry.’ Taking the hint, Corbin released his grip on his slave to allow Finn to complete his cup-bearing duties. He retrieved his urn and set to the task of refilling every guest’s cup while the conversation continued. ‘If you pardon my asking, sir,’ Lashley went on, ‘but what does this shift in position entail? How would proceedings change?’

‘A new Field Commander will be appointed,’ Corbin explained. ‘Other than that, everything will remain as it is in my absence.’

‘Your… absence?’ McIntyre chanced to ask.

Corbin gave a curt nod of his head. ‘My new position will demand my immediate relocation to Londinium.’

A great clatter arose that stirred every man in the room to their feet. While hearts thrashed at the shock, they perceived the culprit to have been Finn dropping his urn, the shards of ceramic scattered at his feet, while blood red wine pooled around him. None other than Seth noted the overwhelming expression of horror on the young Hibernian’s face.

‘You careless imbecile!’ Corbin snarled mercilessly at the slave. ‘Clean that up immediately.’

‘Y-yes master,’ Finn replied, his voice little more than strangled mutter. He untied the granite cloth from around his waist and used it to mop up the spilled wine, hampered by his hands, which were shaking like trees in a gale. Gathering up the broken fragments of the urn in the cloth, he clutched them to his chest and fled the room.

Seth immediately got to his feet, never heeding that his sudden need for the privy should seem suspicious to his commander and fellow officers and he sped down the corridor after Finn. At first, he couldn’t locate the Hibernian but hearing sounds of distress, he turned into a small parlour and found the dark-haired man curled in a corner, his face in his hands. He perceived at first that the young man was sobbing but soon discovered that there were no tears, rather he was caught in the throes of panic.

‘Finn, Finn, it’s me.’ He crouched down in front of the Hibernian but his presence did little to rouse him from his anxieties. ‘Finn, what’s wrong? How can I help?’

‘If it wasn’t enough that he murdered the man I deemed father,’ Finn muttered out, bouts of hyperventilation breaking up his words, ‘if it wasn’t enough that he stripped away my freedom and clamped me in chains to serve him in the most base of ways… now he will rip me away from my very homeland. To live among strangers who don’t speak my tongue or know my culture.’ The hesitancy left his voice and he roared ‘HASN’T HE TAKEN ENOUGH FROM ME!!!’

Seth was struck dumb, unsure how to breach the silence that followed his outburst. He tried to force a smile to his lips. ‘Finn,’ he broached the despairing young man, ‘I finally figured it out. Who you are… I read some books on Hibernian lore like you told me and-‘

‘Are you still persisting with this childish game?’ Finn seethed, lifting his head to lock eyes with the two-toned haired man. ‘Seth, look at me. I am nothing! _Nothing!’_

The passion and loss in his tone stirred Seth and before he knew it, he had gathered Finn into his arms, feeling the naked skin of the Hibernian’s torso press tightly into his chest. _Hell’s teeth,_ he curse inwardly, _he’s as cold as a block of ice._ It was at that very moment that Seth fully realised the decline in the Hibernian, how Corbin had chipped away every quality that made Finn the man that Seth adored – his sharp intelligence, his unassuming humour, his gentle kindness – and reduced him to the only value Corbin admired in him. His attractiveness. Without the spark shining within him, Finn was akin to a statue, pretty to look at but dead behind the eyes.

The overwhelming feeling of guilt was near fit to drown the junior officer.

‘Finn… I’m so, so, sorry,’ he just about wept as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of the Hibernian’s head, feeling the soft dark locks bristle against his lips. ‘You were right, we should have left when we had the chance.’

‘No,’ Finn shook his head, never lifting his head from Seth’s warm chest. ‘Had we left back then, it would have been folly. Some time back, I tried to slip away. I barely made it to the back door before some of the servants discovered me. When they returned me to Corbin, he saw red.’

‘Did he hurt you?’ Seth asked, afraid of the answer.

‘A little,’ Finn replied and Seth felt a ball of knots inside of him relax slightly. ‘Not as much as he could have.’ Finn’s whole body trembled violently. Seth pulled him in closer. ‘While he beat me, he told me what he would do if I ever dared to run away. It was just as you said, Seth, he said he would hunt me down, that no matter where I tried to hide, he would find me and bring me back. How he would hire mercenaries and they would murder anyone, man, woman or child who had helped me in any way, even if they had only given me a husk of bread. He asked if I could live with the knowledge that innocent Hibernians had been slaughtered all because of my disobedience.

‘Then he explained what would happen to me once they found me.’ Despite his tight embrace, Finn’s shaking was only getting worse. ‘How he would give them permission to use me as a common whore. “Only they will not be as gentle as I, David,” he’d said, “they will be uncultured men, rough and uncaring, they will split you clean in half and by the end you will be begging for my sweet caresses once more. Only I will not give them to you. Instead, my whip will flay the skin from your back, my horse will drag your body through the streets and what tattered remains are left will be hanged from my gates for all to see.”’ Finn took a minute to gather his courage. ‘From that moment, I never even entertained the idea of escape.

‘But I understand now…’ Finn turned to Seth, sorrow swallowing up his dim blue eyes. ‘If he is to depart to Londiunium and take me with him, I can finally see my means for escape. Often I have stood at his balcony, wondering if the fall would be enough to shatter my body. It is time for me to find out.’

Seth was shocked to the core on hearing Finn speak such blasphemy. Never in his wildest dreams did he think it would get this bad for the Hibernian in Corbin’s grasp. He tried to find words of comfort, words to help strengthen the broken young man but there were none to be had.

‘I’d best return to the solar,’ Finn said, finding enough resolve in him to regain his feet. ‘My master’s cup will need refilling.’ Having no urn to pour from, Finn instead, grabbed a large orb-like bottle of wine and slowly walked away, his misery evident in every silent footfall as he disappeared from sight.

Seth waited, too numb to move.

_Haven’t you waited enough?_

The scolding thought inside his mind stirred him from his stupour. Yes, he had waited too long, far too long, and Finn had paid the price for his cowardice. He had been prolonging a plan, waiting for that perfect moment to spring Finn free from his chains but none had presented itself. Well, now he had no other choice. He had to think of something before it was too late and Finn was ripped away from him forever.

Fortunately, Seth wasn’t known as ‘The Architect’ for nothing…

The mood in the solar was noticeably quiet when Seth returned, Finn having refilled every empty glass including his own. Corbin had taken to staring gloomily into the fire, while Lashley and McIntyre had seemingly noticed something interesting in the bottom of their glasses. Seth actually found himself missing Lionel Rush (the aid’s star had dimmed the past few weeks in his leader’s eyes and the pair were seen together less and less, Seth believed it was only a matter of time before Lashley appointed himself a new aid) at least he was capable of creating some form of conversation. Instead, it was left to him to break the silence.

‘I apologise if I missed this part of the conversation in my absence,’ Seth said, his voice echoing around the noiseless room. ‘But are you taking any of your household with you to Londinium, should the occasion arise?’

Corbin’s slate grey eyes turned to Seth, but there was a look of enquiry in them. Turns out the Baron had not factored that into his plans yet. ‘I suppose I will,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘While the position of High Constable does offer aids, they will of be of the Red Army and I am no mere solider. My title of Baron, and the style of living that’s expected of it are still to be maintained. I will most likely take Mr Anglian with me and his pick of vital servants.’

‘And would that entourage consist of your cupbearer too, sir?’

Corbin’s head snapped towards Seth. Lashley and McIntyre suddenly grew bored of whatever was distracting them in their glasses, preferring to take in the scene before them instead, but all that Seth could make out was his Field Commander’s furious eye and the questioning look on Finn’s pale face as he stood quivering in the corner.

‘What concern is it of yours that I bring my slave with me?’ Corbin snarled at Seth but the junior officer kept his calm demeanour.

‘You haven’t spend much time in the capital have you, sir?’ Seth noted, the question eliciting a shake of Corbin’s head. ‘Allow me to give you a little insight into the inner workings of the city, for they are nowhere near as lenient as they are here in Hibernia.’

‘In what way?’ Corbin asked, genuinely intrigued. Seth tried not to show his delight and seeing his plan take root.

‘The laws of the Cross are held above all else,’ Seth explained. ‘Anyone who breaks these law, even those in a prominent position in government or the military, is punished severely. Gone will be the vices one can enjoy here away from the prying eyes of the Holy Sanctum.’

‘I know this already,’ Corbin snapped. ‘I don’t need a rookie officer to tell me that I will not be able to gamble while in the capital. But what does this have to do with my cupbearer. Slaves are not forbidden in the eyes of the Cross.’

Seth nodded, agreeing with his commander. ‘I suppose you don’t need a rookie officer to tell you the punishment for sinful relations either, sir.’

The entire room went deathly silent. Lashley and McIntyre watched on, waiting on tender hooks for their leader to unleash his fury on the junior officer and even Finn found himself fearing for the younger man’s imminent health. Corbin’s eyes had turned dark, almost black, clouded over with a storm of rage. Seth knew there could be grave consequences for him if this didn’t work but the prize - Finn’s freedom, his very life – was too important not to fight for. Finally, after several tense seconds, Corbin spoke.

‘Why are you insulting a senior officer in this manner, Rollins?’ He snarled like the wolf on his family crest.

‘I do not wish to insult you, sir,’ he bowed his head, respectfully. ‘I only wish to warn you of the backstreet politics that are rife in the capital.’

‘You believe they will accuse me of relations with my slave?’ The onlookers in the room started leaning forward, awaiting the blood-let sure to follow.

‘As you are well aware, I too was a victim of these very same backstreet politics,’ Seth placed a hand on his chest, his head lowered. ‘Accused of blasphemous relations, myself. Had His Majesty not spoken out in my favour, I would have had my genitals removed and burnt before they hanged me from a rope. A brutal and humiliating death. Instead, I was sent away from the capital into your care, sir.

‘There are many an ambitious man in the capital, each one eyeing up your position, longing to be more powerful or to gain a closer proximity to the King’s ear. They do not rely on the truth, they find a small chink in the armour and thrust the dagger in. The moment they hear you keep a semi-nude young man in your private bedchambers, they will expose you for a pervert and grind you beneath their wheel.’

Seth kept his eyes to the ground and waited, waited to how Corbin would react, waited to see what punishment would befall him. Instead, Corbin leant back in his chair, his face visibly shocked by the junior officer’s revelations.

‘You are quick to point out my naiveté, Rollins,’ Corbin huffed, clearly showing signs of unease but hiding these beneath a mask of ire. ‘But how about offering some resolutions for my predicament?’

‘I have one, sir,’ Seth raised his head, trying his best to keep the smile from his face. ‘We all saw for ourselves, back on the boy’s farmhold; he can fight. He is quick and deft with a weapon. Have him recruited to the Red Army.’

‘Now, wait just one second!’ The one factor in the room that Seth had not taken into account and on hindsight, really should have planned for, was McIntyre. The huge Caledonian rose to his feet, his raven hair draping wildly down his shoulders. ‘If you recall, sir, you promised the lad to me once you were done with him.’

‘With all due respect, sir,’ Seth cut in, ‘the Hibernian has potential and shouldn’t be squandered. Give him to McIntyre and you send him to an early grave, but have him join the Red Army and not only would you have gained another valuable solider but imagine the message it sends out to his fellow countrymen. It could go some way to quell the growing unrest on this island.’

‘What a load of shite!’ McIntyre spat back. ‘You have your head stuck up in the clouds, Rollins. You put the boy in the army, his fellow men will view him a traitor and lynch him before he’s laced up his boots. Anyway, just look at him; he’s far too small and skinny to be a soldier. The role he’s in now suits him best and I say we keep it that way-‘

‘ENOUGH!’ Corbin demanded silence, rubbing his throbbing temples irritably. McIntyre and Seth both resumed their chairs like scolded children, only Seth wasn’t ready to give up yet.

‘Well, why don’t we indulge in another of your vices before your inevitable move to Londinium, sir?’ Corbin fixed the junior officer with a glare as Seth continued. ‘A wager?’

McIntyre let out a groan as Corbin’s head lifted fully, telling Seth he had won this battle. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Lease the Hibernian to me for a while and I will train him as any new recruit then have him take the final exam. If he passes, he will become a member of the Red Army, if he fails…’ he shot a look over at McIntyre but refused to give the savage behemoth any form of victory, ‘… then you may relocate him however you choose.’

Corbin kept him waiting for a response, during which time Seth couldn’t bring himself to glance Finn’s way for fear that he had wrecked his one chance to save him. Sweat poured down the back of his neck as he watched the vacant face of his commander, the same one he used during card games when he was bluffing – no wonder he won so many hands!

Without saying a word, Corbin got to his feet and turned away from the party. Seth felt his heart sink, inwardly begging Finn for forgiveness that he had failed him when he noticed Corbin approaching the very man he was mentally appealing to. Finn shirked back as his master came closer but the wall blocked any form of escape. Corbin wrapped a brutal grip around the slave’s upper arm and practically threw him across the room towards Seth who caught him before the Hibernian tumbled to the floor.

‘He’s yours for now, Rollins,’ Corbin said, keeping his back to the pair. ‘In three weeks, I will return from Londinium and come to reclaim him. We will conduct the exam then.’

‘Three weeks? But, sir, a regular recruit is given upwards of six months! Three weeks is not enough time to-‘

‘Three weeks!’ Corbin silenced Seth’s protestations before leaving the room.

That was the cue for the officers to leave. As Seth helped Finn to his feet, they pair heard a mocking laughter edging closer. ‘He’s a cunning bastard,’ McIntyre sneered at the two smaller men. ‘Three weeks is no time to train a soldier. He’s setting your boy up to fail, Rollins.’ The Caledonian’s bear paw shot out and wrapped around Finn’s jaw, pulling his blue eyes up to meet his own. ‘You’ll be mine soon enough, boy. Mark my words.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep safe out there everyone! x


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slave begins his training and reflects on his captivity

Finn’s mind was a blur. From the moment he heard his master’s intention to relocate to Londinium, Finn had been caught up in a whirlpool of emotions, the rapids only growing in intensity when Seth had finally enacted a plan to free him from his cruel master’s bonds. He had felt fear overtake him then, knowing, _knowing_ that it would never work and all his efforts would only incur his master’s wrath yet here he was astride a horse (sitting upright in the saddle for once, not bound like cargo to it) with Seth at his back, the young soldier’s arms wrapped protectively around him as his hands cradled the reigns.

He had thought it all a cruel trick by his master and waited for the guards at the gate to accost him, yank him down from the saddle and march him back to Corbin’s chambers, yet they let him pass. The moment he was out of that accursed prison, he had felt light headed and fell back into Seth’s sturdy chest. It was so unlike Corbin’s; it was warm and emitted a pleasant scent, like the freshness of the mountain air after a rainfall. Before he knew it, he had fallen into slumber only to be roused by Seth once they had reached the stables of the castle.

Finn had groggily jumped down from the saddle, wrapping the coarse blanket tighter around his semi-naked body as he glanced around at his new home for the next three weeks. It was impressive sight, a mammoth structure composing of four huge, thick walls protected at each corner by a circular tower. The central courtyard inside was lit by a myriad of torches lining the walls and revealed several structures including a stable and a blacksmith.

Seth’s hand on his lower back steered him towards one of the towers and they ascended several flights of stairs until they reached a locked door. Seth produced a key and unlocked the portal, inviting the Hibernian inside.

‘These are my private chambers,’ Seth said, staying by the door while Finn glanced around the room. It was a fraction of the size of Corbin’s solar with only a slit of a window to offer light and a basic wooden bedframe covered in homespun blankets. Yet, for all of his basicness, it was more welcoming than Corbin’s cold cell-like chambers.

‘You will be staying here tonight,’ Seth said, keeping his place by the doorway. Finn spun around to eye him.

‘Where will you sleep?’

‘I’ll find a bunk in the barracks,’ Seth waved away any protest from Finn. ‘Does an officer good to slum it with his men from time to time. Sleep well, we’ve a big day ahead of us in the morning.’

He made to exit the room when Finn called his name. ‘Thank you,’ he said, shakily. The junior officer smiled before disappearing from sight.

From the moment the large, heavy portal snapped shut, Finn was filled with a sense of dread. Cautiously, he crept towards the door and with trembling fingers pulled the handle downwards. His whole body shuddered with relief when he found it unlocked.

He wasn’t a prisoner here after all.

And yet, he didn’t feel free.

His hand went up to his collarbone, his fingers stroking the old, familiar metal band clasped around his neck.

It was then that he noticed it, the shard of light stretching across the floor. He followed its glare up to the slit window and padded his way towards it, the sky beyond slowly revealing itself through the gap.

And there she was, shining as clear as the sun during daybreak.

Polaris! The northern star!

‘I’ve found you,’ he whispered to himself in a hushed, somber tone, like a man of the Cross recounting his daily prayers. ‘I’ve found you at last and now I can follow you home.’

Seth returned bright and early next morning with a bowl in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. ‘Good morning, Finn,’ he smiled, pleasantly surprised to find the other man already awake and peeking out of the tiny window. ‘I’m afraid the kitchens were empty but I grabbed what I could.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Finn gave a ghost of a smile and eagerly pried the bowl from Seth’s fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t you want to dress first?’ Seth asked but was cut off by a forceful shake of Finn’s head. Even after he had finished off the scraps that Seth had procured from the kitchen, he still averted his gaze from the pile of clothes. Seth, sensing something was wrong, went to sit on his bunk and looked up into the Hibernian’s downcast eyes questioningly.

‘Finn, what’s wrong?’ he asked, his voice soft and gentle. It was then that he noticed the large, black bags under the older man’s eyes. ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’

Finn replied with a sad shake of his head. ‘I… I thought once I was through those gates that I would feel it,’ he admitted.

‘Feel what?’ Seth enquired, trying to catch the Hibernian’s eye but he kept them firmly on the floor.

‘Free,’ Finn sighed, ‘but I still feel trapped. I feel like… he’s still there, watching me the entire time.’

‘Finn, Corbin will be leaving for Londinium today,’ Seth informed him. ‘He won’t be here for the next three weeks.’

The dark-haired crown slowly lifted, the blue eyes staring into the far distance, deep in thought. ‘I need to see him,’ he said, forcefully and, on seeing the look of shock on Seth’s face, he clarified, ‘I need to see him leave with my own two eyes. Or else, I will never settle.’

Seth wasn’t happy with the idea but if it helped Finn to feel more comfortable, he would allow it. Later that morning, the pair found themselves at the docks where ten months prior, Finn had first stepped unwillingly into his new life. As they stood, side by side, watching the hustle and bustle of soldiers and sailors loading up for the journey ahead, Finn was visibly unnerved. His tunic in particular seemed to be irritating him as he squirmed in the brown rough-spun fabric of a soldier-in-training.

‘Is it taking a little getting used-to?’ Seth asked with an eyebrow raised.

‘It’s itchier than I remember,’ Finn replied but tried to offer a smile. ‘It feels good though. I feel… concealed.’ He turned back to the scene before him, trying to take his mind off of the renewed sensation. ‘Remember when we were last here?’

‘Finn… you don’t have to-‘

‘Hard to believe it was over ten months ago,’ Finn carried on, ignoring the concerned look from his associate. ‘So much of my life... wasted.’ He glanced up onto the deck of the ship, the side of his pink lips curling ever so slightly. ‘And just before we landed, you made that binding vow to me… that you would break the bonds that hold me.’ His gaze turned back to his companion, the concerned look deepening in the junior officer’s face. ‘And you are holding to that vow.’

Seth felt more wary and nearly reminded the Hibernian that they had a lot of work of their hands before Finn could claim his freedom but he looked so optimistic, his wide eyes almost gaining a little of the sparkle that had struck him to his very core the first time they had met, that he held his tongue.

The whinny of horses and the screech of wheels stalling to a halt announced the arrival of Field Marshall Corbin. Seth immediately noticed the change come over Finn’s demeanour; the way he stood to attention, hands down at his side and head bowed. His shoulders had tensed and his whole body quivered with fear. _Dear Lord in Heaven,_ ’ Seth shook his head sadly, _how did he do this to you, Finn? What did he do to make you so afraid?_

He watched as Corbin dismounted and made straight for the ship. Seth watched and prayed that he marched directly onto the boat without a glance their way but his hopes were dashed the moment Corbin’s grey eyes found the bowed head of his slave. He paused in his tracks and diverted his course towards them. Seth watched as Finn’s entire frame shuddered with fear the closer Corbin got to him.

‘Rollins,’ Corbin gave a curt nod of the head towards his officer before turning his cold gaze onto Finn. ‘David.’

There it was - that strange name again. Seth pondered the meaning of it especially when Finn replied to the address with a withering ‘master’.

‘You have him wearing boots,’ Corbin observed, his tone that of a fierce scold.

‘He wears the attire of a soldier-in-training,’ Seth jumped in to Finn’s defense but Corbin cut him off.

‘He is no soldier yet. Remove them!’ Finn obeyed without hesitation, trembling hands fiddling with the laces in a hurry to appease his angered master. Once off, he passed both offending articles to Corbin who shoved them into Seth’s arms.

‘You only have three weeks to turn him into a soldier and you waste half a day seeing me onto my ship?’ Corbin continued to scold Rollins. Seth bristled at the accusation but he wasn’t about to betray their true reason for being there, even if Corbin had already figured it out.

‘We’ll begin training directly after the mid-day meal,’ Seth informed his commander. ‘A brisk walk and a spot of fresh air will do Finn the world of good to prepare him for the work ahead.’ He had put an emphasis on the name ‘Finn’.

‘Certainly,’ Corbin scowled at the pair, making Finn flinch. He sneered at the response, placing his fingers under Finn’s chin to force it up. Finn obediently looked into his master’s granite eyes. ‘Word hard and listen to all that Rollins tells you, my dear, sweet David,’ he said. ‘I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labour in three weeks.’ Seth could see it, the way his commander puckered his lips, the way his two fingers curled around the collar at Finn’s neck, aching to pull the smaller man closer and claim his lips in a searing kiss, but he held back. He knew the penalty should he perform such acts in front of his men, long before Seth had reminded him the night before.

Eventually, Corbin pulled away and never looked back as he boarded the ship. Only once he had disappeared below the deck, did Finn start to relax, letting out a shuddering gasp as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

‘For starters, every soldier must learn to bear the weight of his responsibility,’ Rollins began as he maneuvered Finn through the corridors. They had just enjoyed their mid-day meal and now Finn’s training had begun in earnest. They entered a small chamber on the ground floor where they found Seth’s aid, Apollo Crews waiting for them expectantly. Seth made the introductions and the two men shook hands pleasantly before he continued on with his soliloquy.

‘The first burden he must bear is that of his armour.’ Seth positioned Finn in the centre of the room before going to stand opposite him. ‘The basic pieces of armour include your chain mail, breast and back plate, greaves and gauntlets. Apollo, if you will?’ The aid approached with the aforementioned articles and proceeded to apply them over Finn’s tunic and breeches. The young Hibernian stumbled under the immense weight but kept his mouth sealed shut.

‘These you will be expected to wear at all times while on duty,’ Seth clarified. ‘While on missions, you must never remove your armour except to sleep and even then you must have it close to hand. You never know when our camp might be ambushed and you will need to protect yourself.

‘During battle you will add pauldron, rerebrace, cuisse, poleyn and of course, your helm.’ Seth watched on with a grin as these last pieces of armour were applied to the Hibernian until his entire body was concealed beneath the heavy plates. ‘You will, of course have your weapon,’ a sword was thrust into Finn’s hand, ‘and your shield,’ the huge block of wood and steel was placed in the other. ‘Now…’ Seth said, admiring the final effect with his hands on his hips, ‘how fast can you run in all of that?’

‘Run?’ Finn spluttered at the thought. ‘I can barely put one foot in front of the other.’

‘Well, that will be your first lesson,’ Seth smiled warmly albeit with a hint of impish mischief.

For the next hour, Finn was taught how to balance the heavy plates on his person in order to give him enough freedom of movement. At first he stumbled to one end of the room and back until he had figured out a rhythm then they brought him out to walk the courtyard. As they trundled past each curious face of soldier and servant, Seth heard something emit from Finn’s lips that made his heart soar.

‘Are you laughing?’ Seth turned to the older man, beaming from ear to ear. Like the smile on the Hibernian’s face, it had been small but it had happened none-the-less.

‘I’m sorry,’ Finn replied, lowering his head, bashfully. ‘It’s just, this reminded me of something that happened back at Corbin’s.’

‘Do tell,’ Seth encouraged the older man on, steadying him in his suit of armour as they rounded a corner.

Finn paused for a second, deciding how best to start. ‘My second week in Corbin’s possession, the old knight I told you about, Sir Finlay, came to me and told me he’d spoken to my master and he’d agreed to let me out with Finlay once a day for exercise in the courtyard.’ The northern Hibernian had waited until Finn’s feet had fully healed from the effects of the torture before declaring this news, a fact that Finn concealed; he didn’t want to upset Seth with the details of his abuse at the hands of his master. ‘I’ll always remember that first time we stepped out of Corbin’s chambers where I had been locked up tight for almost two whole weeks. I felt this rush of excitement of being away from those choking, cold walls and as soon as we hit the fresh air outside, I inhaled deeply. It was like being back on the farm, the crisp morning air, the sound of the horses… I could almost hear my stepfather’s whistling coming from the barn.

‘Turns out the whistling was jeers from the guards, laughing at my state of undress. I felt the full force of the humiliation and fell back into the house, seeking the refuge of my cell upstairs. But Sir Finlay would hear none of it. I watched as he strode out into the courtyard and was aghast as he began to remove his armour before shedding his tunic and breeches until he was decked in nothing but his undergarments. The laughing rose to fever pitch but Sir Finlay, after fixing me with a grin, thrust his chin up defiantly and took off at a jog, running right past the very assailants who’d verbally assaulted him.’ The laugh inside him bubbled up to the surface again. It was the sweetest sound to grace Seth’s ear and he felt his cheeks warm at the sound.

‘Well, what choice did I have? I’d be damned if I’d let the old fool humiliate himself alone, so I stepped out from the doorway and ran to catch up to him. What a pair we made, running side-by-side in nought but our smalls. At first, we were barraged with abuse; jeers from the guards and looks of dismay from the servants. After a while though, we became such a regular fixture of the morning routine that hardly anyone noticed our bizarre display at all.’ As he finished his tale, Finn set his lips to a weak smile. ‘He was a good man, Sir Finlay.’

‘I agree, whole-heartedly,’ Seth replied. ‘But, I have to ask, why are you thinking of this now?’

‘The looks the other soldiers are giving us,’ Finn explained, glancing around as best he could in the constrictive helm. He quickly elaborated, seeing the anger flare in Seth’s eyes. ‘Oh no, not like that. I meant, they give us funny looks but your men are smiling, laughing. It’s clear they all know what it’s like to walk as I am now, they’ve all been through it themselves. It’s… comforting, encouraging even. It makes me feel I’m not alone.’

Now it was Seth’s turn to bow his head, feeling pride for his men swell up inside of him. ‘You’re not alone, Finn,’ he declared warmly, resting his hand on the Hibernian’s shoulder. ‘Not anymore.’

The first day had gone well and even though Finn clearly had a long way to go to master wearing a full suit of armour, he had felt like he had made progress. Seth had discharged him from the day with a proud clap on the shoulder and informed him that the following day they would be practicing combat. Finn found himself itching to spar again, just like he had done every day with his stepfather. Remembering the old man pricked something painful in his heart.

He took his evening meal alone in the mess-hall, too shy to mingle with the other men who knew each other so well. Every so often he would steal glances across at Seth, seated pride of place at the officer’s table. Whenever his eyes would fall onto the strand of gold glistening against the dark brown hair, he would thank the gods for his friend’s kindness and bravery. Because of him, he had a chance to break his chains and finally rid himself of the collar that strangled his neck.

He had to admit though; he missed his company that evening. Sitting alone in a corner of the hall, surrounded by friendly banter and loud bouts of laughter, he found he missed not only Seth but his friends back at Corbin’s. How long had it been since Becky had been sent away? Three months? Four? He would never forget the look of pure grief on her face. But it had been too late; cruel jealousy had already taken root inside of Corbin and he found no remorse in his cold, black heart for the flame-haired woman.

Finn shook the image from his head and tried to focus on happier times. He reminded himself of the conversation they’d had the morning after she had found him bound and bleeding in Corbin’s bedchamber. She’d stoked the fire as per Sir Finlay’s instructions and set about cleaning and binding his wounded hands and feet. The entire time she had averted her gaze, large tears sticking to her full eyelashes, threatening to drop down her pale cheek.

‘This was not your fault,’ he’d tried to comfort her.

‘Yes it was,’ she snapped back, keeping her head bowed.

‘ _I’m_ the one who wielded the weapon,’ he went on, ‘this all rests on me and my reckless actions.’

‘But you wouldn’t have reacted that way if I hadn’t encouraged you to,’ she retorted, finally allowing the tears to flow. ‘I am so sorry, Finn, I should have kept my mouth shut, like they told me to. I never know when to clam up. It’s like my mother used to say, I have far too much fire inside of me.’

The strange explanation caught Finn’s intrigue. ‘Fire?’ he asked, tilting his head, inquisitively.

Becky shrugged her shoulders. ‘My mother was a heathen,’ she blushed with a tinge of embarrassment. ‘Some called her a witch but she didn’t practice magic or anything, she just followed the ancient ways of the world. She believed that each of us are born with fragments of the four elements inside of us and often, once she’d had her first few drinks of the day but her mind was still focused enough, she would take my face into her hands, look deep into my eyes and say “Rebecca, there is too much fire in you, lass. All fire, with no water to douse it and no earth to stifle it. It will make you strong but watch that it doesn’t destroy you”.’ She shrugged again and pursed her lips, clearly embarrassed, revealing this side of her history. ‘All superstitious nonsense of course,’ she went on, Finn hearing somebody else’s words escaping her lips, ‘although she did teach me how to ‘read’ people’s elements for a living.’

‘Really?’ Finn leant forward, blue eyes wide. ‘Can you read mine?’

‘Finn, it’s all a con to rob a few gullible people of their coin,’ she warned him but the look of childlike wonder in his eyes soon broke her defenses. With a weary sigh, she placed her hands on either side of his face and stared deep into him. He remembered the warmth of her touch, her brown eyes shining a captivating amber in the firelight, matching the shade of her vibrant hair.

‘What do you think you’re made of?’ she asked him, her voice a soothing lull.

‘I don’t know,’ Finn replied, brows creasing in thought. ‘Perhaps… water?’

‘Because of your eyes?’ she guessed correctly. ‘You certainly have a lot of water in you. Water is cleansing, water is pure and it is always moving, ever changing. But that is only a small part of you.’ Finn drank in her words and found his mind wandering to his mother. Somehow, Becky had managed to describe her perfectly. But if she had only imparted a small part of her being to her son, what else did he possess?

‘I see in you mainly earth,’ Becky went on and Finn found himself surprised. What did earth signify? As if reading his inner thoughts, Becky explained. ‘Earth is nourishing, it encourages growth and new life. It is also strong, it puts down roots infinitely deep. While water may shift it, fire scorch it and air lift it, earth will always remain, standing fast. We all come from earth and we return to earth.’ Finn’s mind was racing on hearing these small nougats that described his own character and for the first time in his entire life, he was aware of the gifts given to him by his father.

Before Becky could pull her hands away, he grabbed them, holding them tightly between his bandaged fingers. ‘Thank you, Becky,’ he said, choking down a sob. The maid had given him a funny look, declaring again that it was a parlour trick, but she couldn’t understand the impact of her words. For the first time in his life, he had felt close to the man that he had never known.

‘You’re up bright and early, I see,’ Seth noted with an approving nod of the head as he approached Finn waiting patiently for him in the centre of the courtyard. Apollo had helped him into his basic armour and Seth had to admit, it fitted the chiseled physique of the young Hibernian like a glove, accenting his leanly muscled arms and well toned thighs. The only flaw being the nasty collar snapped firmly around Finn’s graceful neck.

‘I’m eager to get going,’ Finn offered by way of explanation. ‘We have a long way to go if I’m to pass this exam.’

‘It’s still early days,’ Seth warned him, ‘no need to get panicked just yet. Here.’

He threw something Finn’s way, the Hibernian catching it in one hand. He looked down at the implement, finding it to be a wooden sword. ‘It’s heavy,’ he noted, testing the weight between his hands.

‘Well spotted,’ Seth replied. ‘Training swords are designed to be heavier than the real thing in order to build up strength. You will also need this.’ He passed over a large wooden shield that reached from Finn’s shoulder to knee. ‘Now, let’s spar, see what I have to work with.’

The pair circled each other, Finn getting used to the feel of sword and shield, before he lunged in for an attack. Seth easily moved out of the way. Resuming their circling, Finn tried once more, only to be blocked comfortably by Seth and pushed back, Finn nearly losing his footing. Before he had a chance to steady himself, Seth brought his sword down on Finn’s shield and the former farm boy landed flat on his back with a clatter.

‘Good move,’ he complimented Seth as the junior officer offered a hand to help the older man to his feet.

‘You’re holding back,’ Seth lightly scolded the soldier-in-training as they took up their positions once more. ‘I’ve seen you fight before, I know how good you are at this. Come at me with your best shot.’

They continued their session but the dynamic never changed. Seth saw every one of Finn’s attacks coming a mile off and managed to dodge them easily all while the Hibernian defended sluggishly. More often than not, he landed hard into the dirt. After an hour of the same result, they stopped to catch their breath, Finn hunched over, hands on his knees, gasping life back into his lungs all while Seth wiped away the first beads of sweat he’s conjured all morning.

‘I’m so sorry, Seth,’ Finn shook his head with frustration. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘You’re just out of practice,’ Seth comforted the agitated older man. ‘A few more sessions will shed all the rust, you’ll see.’

Yet, a full day’s work did little to ease Finn of any of his rustiness, if anything he seemed to grow more exhausted and clumsy as the hours wore on, the exasperation increasing on his face. His frustration only helped in making him act more rashly and opening him up to more mistakes and by the time they decided to call it a day, he was covered in bruises and welts from their sparring session. In stark contrast, Seth had not one single scratch on his person.

Seth had tried to encourage the older man that it was nothing to worry about, that it would come eventually but as Finn sat alone once more in the messhall, he found himself starting to worry. It was as if everything his stepfather had taught him had evaporated into the air, leaving no single trace of it behind. How could he have suddenly forgotten over fifteen years worth of training. His heart sank deep into his boots, feeling as if he had let down the man he’d loved so much, all while, in the back of his mind, the shadow of Corbin lurked, laughing mockingly at his failure, cold granite fingers reaching out to drag him back into captivity.

He was stirred by his thoughts by someone coming to sit opposite him and looked up to find Apollo smiling warmly at him. ‘Officer Rollins sent me,’ he thumbed towards the two-toned man who watched from his table, a crease of concern on his brow. ‘He was worried about you.’

‘That’s kind of him,’ Finn smiled back weakly, keeping his gaze on the soup growing cold in front of him. ‘But he need not worry, I am used to being alone.’

Apollo eyed the Hibernian up while he ripped a chunk of bread from its husk and dipped it into his steaming bowl. Placing the food into his mouth he chewed thoughtfully, keeping his gaze steadily fixed on Finn’s bowed head. ‘He’s right, you know,’ he said suddenly, catching Finn’s attention, ‘you will figure it out, in time. I saw you sparring with your old man back at the farm. Skills like that don’t just disappear.’

‘I’ve been locked up in a room for ten months,’ Finn reminded him. ‘The first few months were fine when they took me out for exercise but after that I never once left those chambers. You lock even the strongest of war horses up in a box, they will grow fat and sluggish, lose all that strength and agility they once had.’

‘But free them from that box and let them run among the fields again, they will regain it,’ Apollo countered. Finn didn’t want to be rude and retort so he stayed silent, stirring his spoon around his bowl. ‘Seth’s a good man and an excellent trainer. He will get you where you need to be, just trust him.’

Finn glanced over at the junior officer again. He thought that the younger man was deep in conversation with his fellow officers but the flash of brown eye looking his way told him he was still wary about Finn’s state of mind. It warmed him slightly, knowing that somebody cared for his welfare that much. He hadn’t known compassion like that since Becky had left.

‘I trust him,’ Finn declared, keeping his eyes on the two-tone haired man. ‘I trust him with my very life.’

Finn grunted as he hit the floor hard. Gnashing his teeth, he thumped his fist against the dirt, letting out a vexed growl. His opponent, Apollo helped him to his feet, helpfully offering him advice on how to position his body to deflect the blow but Finn had stopped listening. He _knew_ all of this already, so why was it suddenly so hard. His whole body felt sluggish, like he suddenly weighed a hundred pounds more. He used to be able to dance, to fly on his silent feet, but now he did nothing but stumble and fall into the dust.

Seth fortunately sensed Finn’s irritation and cut off Apollo, suggesting they take a break. Finn excused himself to find something to quench his thirst and wandered off towards the kitchens, throwing off his gauntlets as he went, the metal plates clattering against the ground. As he walked away, he tried to remove the breastplate but he couldn’t figure out the ties and made do with kicking off his greaves instead. He stopped for a moment, hidden in the shadows of the blacksmith, yanking his breeches up to allow the bare skin of his shins feel the soft bristle of the breeze. He closed his eyes, arched his neck back and inhaled deeply.

The breeze cooled him and he no longer felt parched. He just wanted some time alone. He never thought he’d say that after being held in isolation for so long but relocating to the castle had brought him from one extreme to the other. The castle was so… _busy!_ Constantly buzzing with activity; soldiers continually marching to and fro, performing drills, following orders, laughing raucously in the messhall during meals, servants shuffling over the castle like ants on their nest, attending to their never-ending tasks, horses, cattle, sheep, fowl, the menagerie inside the courtyard was vast and constantly baying. It all hurt his head.

His feet took over, pulling him this direction and that, until he found a quiet spot hidden in the far corner of the courtyard. Seating himself on a stone step he concealed himself behind a stack of wooden barrels and tried to block out the residual noise around him, holding his head in his hands.

‘Why is this so hard, Becky?’ he pondered aloud, wishing the flame-haired woman was there with him now. She had always known what to say to calm him and ease his fears. She always knew the right way to build him back up.

Against his will, his mind revisited that fateful day when she had been sent away. He had helped Corbin take his daily dose of poppy to help him sleep, and believing his master dead to the world, he had waited eagerly for Becky at the door. As was their daily routine, he helped her clean the fireplace, all the while chatting as easily as they always did. He admitted that he was missing her and how he wished she could come by for her long visits like she did when Corbin had been away. She had cupped his cheek in her warm hand and told him that his master would heal soon enough and they would see each other again, in time.

He hadn’t noticed the granite eyes watching them coldly from the bed, hadn’t noticed the growing temper rising inside of his master, the callous envy that bubbled within the dangerous man.

That evening, Corbin called Finn in from his refuge on the balcony and the Hibernian found his master propped up in his bed. The steward, Mr Anglian was there with him, having been the one to stoke the fire and help his employer to sit up comfortably. The thin, pasty servant looked at Finn as if he were a fly in his soup, watching as the Hibernian obeyed his master and came to stand at his side. Behind him, he heard a knock come from the door.

‘Shall I show them in?’ Mr Anglian asked with a sneer, rubbing his palms together expectantly. Corbin shook his head and instead bellowed for the visitor to enter his chambers. Finn stood with his back against the cold, stone wall, watching with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Becky entered the room escorted by Sir Finlay. She glanced at him, her brown eyes large with worry, silently asking if he knew the reason for this summons. He could do nothing but shake his head back at her.

She was shown to the centre of the room and made to stand directly in Corbin’s line of sight. The Field Marshall had the most intense glare, Finn knew this all too well, and was not surprised when Becky turned her face away. It was the first time he had seen the maid tremble.

She was scared.

He was too.

‘Miss Lynch, is it?’ Corbin asked, his voice rattling around the room like stones in a metal pot.

‘Yes, m’lord,’ she replied, her voice little more than a squeak.

‘Do you know why I have summoned you, Miss Lynch?’ She answered that she did not. ‘I have been speaking to your superior, Mr Anglian here and he has been concerned about your recent conduct. Do you know of what conduct I speak?’ When Becky paused, afraid of how to respond, Corbin decided to answer for her. ‘He tells me that while I was away, you spent most of your time in my private chambers instead of attending to your duties. Is that true?’

Becky’s tongue became knotted, afraid of how to answer. To deny would only anger the famously short-tempered man but to admit to her crimes would seal her fate.

Corbin, growing impatient with her silence, thumped his fist against the headboard. ‘ANSWER ME!’ he bellowed.

Becky jumped a foot in the air. ‘Yes! Yes, it’s true,’ she finally revealed, the emotion evident in her voice. Finn lost all sense of control and took a step towards her when Corbin’s tight fist enclosed around his wrist and yanked him back.

‘And why did you spent so much time in here, Miss Lynch?’ Corbin asked, his grip on Finn constricting, threatening to block the blood flow. ‘Tell me, did you have your eye on something that belongs to me? Were you looking to steal my property away from me?’

Finn’s blue eyes burst open at the accusation, flashing between Corbin and Becky. The orange haired maid was terror-stricken, staring at Finn but Corbin’s gaze was purely focused on the young woman. Finally, Becky shook her head, strands of fiery curls coming loose from under her wimple.

‘N-no, no, m’lord,’ she stammered in response. ‘That is not true.’

‘So you have no interest in my slave?’ Corbin’s grip grew so tight that Finn let out a yelp of pain. He tried to pry Corbin’s fingers off of him but the unfeeling gargoyle twisted his arm at an unnatural angle, forcing Finn down to one knee. Pain exploded through his arm as he felt the bones threaten to rip out of his shoulder joint.

Finn’s cries of agony flooded the room and Becky tried to run towards him - only Sir Finlay’s warning hand on her shoulder prevented her from dashing to him, but she still appealed to his aid. ‘M’lord, please! I beg you! You’re hurting him.’ Tears were gushing down her cheeks now yet Corbin was unmoved. He kept applying the pressure while Becky screamed and begged.

At last, after several excruciating seconds, Corbin released his grip on Finn’s arm, tossing it aside like old chicken bone. Finn, fell to the floor, pulling his aching arm in to his chest, panting like a stricken dog. Becky stood, sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes never leaving Finn, wanting so much to help him but frozen to the spot like a fawn in the sight of a wolf.

‘So, you do care for him?’ Corbin noted, his voice as cold as the north wind.

‘Yes, I do,’ Becky confirmed. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She now knew how this scene would end and she found what little resolve she had left to see this through with her pride intact.

‘Miss Lynch, considering that you have been neglecting your duties, I see no further reason to pay you for said duties,’ Corbin went on. Becky lifted her head, looking her executioner eye-to-eye. ‘Collect your personal effects immediately and Mr Anglian will show you out.’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ Becky stammered out. She glanced Finn’s way one last time, her lips forming the words ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ before Mr Anglian took her arm and escorted her from the room. That was the last Finn saw of her.

It was only then that Finn found his voice. He rose to his feet and begged his master for Becky’s mercy, telling the wretched gargoyle that Becky had been his friend and nothing more but Corbin rounded on him with a look that froze his blood in place. ‘Be thankful that I did not punish her worse,’ he snarled. ‘From what I hear, she spoke of heresy against the Cross and Crown. By all rights, I could have the bitch hanged for treason.’

Finn shrunk back into the shadows, clutching his throbbing arm to his chest, feeling his mind go numb. Becky had told him all the hardships she’d endured surviving on the streets and how she dreamed of saving enough money to board a boat and leave to a far distant land. They often spoke about leaving together, fantasizing about the exotic places they would visit and the incredible wonders they would see. He tried not to think about her struggling in the dirt like she had when she was a child.

‘Finlay,’ Corbin’s voice snapped him back to his senses. He looked up, finding the old knight still in the room, being addressed by his repulsive master. ‘I have decided that while I recover from my injuries, it would be best to have my slave by my side at all times to attend on me. Therefore he will no longer be joining you in the mornings.’

Fit Finlay glanced Finn’s way, his face turning pale. ‘With all due respect m’lord,’ he replied, keeping his voice calm, ‘if the lad doesn’t receive the proper exercise, he will grow weak and wither-‘

‘I will have him conduct drills every day here in my chamber,’ Corbin waved away any protest. ‘And since I will be here at all times, I see no reason to have you guard the door. You may return to the gate watch.’ The knight opened his mouth to protest again but sensing that this battle had already been lost, he bowed his head regretfully and left the chambers.

Finn felt his heart sink even further. This couldn’t be happening. Had it not been enough for him to lose Becky, his closest confidante that night but now he had lost his only other ally in this place? He suddenly felt so alone and scared, locked in a cage with a wolf intent on devouring every inch of his flesh. He shivered as he heard his master coo to him from above, lulling him into his bed with his false sweetness.

Finn’s thoughts slowly resurfaced to his present circumstances and softly the noises of the courtyard invaded his senses once more. He was free from Corbin’s icy clutches yet he felt more trapped than ever. There was no chance of him passing the exam and soon he would be back in Corbin’s full possession, to dispose of however he wished. He thought of McIntyre, thought of the cruel smirk on the man’s face every time he eyed him up. Corbin was one kind of cruelty; McIntyre would be another kind altogether.

His topaz eyes glanced over to the gate, thinking how easy it would be to sneak out and away but Corbin’s threats still lingered at the back of his mind, killing any idea of escape. Yes, he was trapped, as effectively as a rabbit in a snare and the only possible way out of his predicament was by following Seth’s impossible plan. Scrubbing his hands through his short hair, Finn rose to his feet, letting out a long, harried sigh and he returned to the training field, retrieving his greaves and gauntlets on his way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new ally reveals itself and offers some advice

Seth scrubbed his exhausted eyes before scratching his fingers along his scalp. Leaning back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath the shift in weight, he turned from the papers on the table and looked towards the small window at the far end of the officer’s solar. Through the tiny slit he could make out the night sky, stars simmering softly above. It looked inviting so he snuffed out his candle, threw on his cloak and descended the stairs to walk the courtyard in the hope that it would clear his head.

He felt wrecked both in body and mind. Not only had the past few days been taxing but now the results were beginning to take their toll, anxiety creeping in to rip his psyche to pieces.

Finn had been with him now for almost a week and though the pair had spent every minute they could spare together, his training was still proving unfruitful. Their sparring sessions in particular remained heavily one sided and as each day passed with no improvement, Finn’s confidence had receded lower and lower. He still tried his best to put in the effort but he was growing frustrated and… scared, Rollins had noted with a pang of his heartstrings.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the late summer air fill his lungs. He released it shakily. How could he turn things around for the Hibernian? Especially now that a third of their time was almost up? He paced the courtyard, trying to let his mind relax, see if something bubbled to the surface but the rippling waves kept churning the surface, effectively blocking any new ideas.

As he rounded the stables, he was stunned to find another soul struggling to settle. ‘Finn?’ his soft voice attracted the attention of the older man and he bid Seth a good evening. The junior officer went to sit next to him on the steps of the blacksmiths, observing the way the Hibernian’s fingers restlessly locked together, the hunch of his shoulders and the bowed head.

Seth said nothing but shuffled a little closer so that his side rested against Finn’s, sharing their body warmth. A gentle reminder that Finn wasn’t alone anymore. It seemed to settle the older man but only slightly.

‘It’s not going well, is it?’ Finn finally said, his accent lilting his soft words.

‘We still have two weeks,’ Seth offered by way of encouragement, though his tone betrayed his true sentiment.

‘McIntyre was right,’ Finn sighed, sucking in his bottom lip and raking it mercilessly with his teeth. He did that when he was nervous, Seth had noted a long, long time ago. ‘I’m no soldier and Corbin knew it. This was all just another of his mind games to break me.’ He inhaled sharply, cutting off something strong welling inside of him. ‘Hasn’t he done enough?’

Seth looked over at the older man but his face was buried in his knees, his fingers knitted over his crown, hiding any sign of his pain or fear. Wanting to offer something to comfort him, Seth slowly freed his hand from his cloak and went to lift it, only to place it back down again. He did this dance a couple more times, each effort bringing his arm higher and higher until he set his jaw and tentatively placed his arm around Finn’s shaking shoulders. He held it there loosely for a few seconds, trying to gauge whether the gesture would be welcomed by Finn and when he was not immediately shook off, he curled it tight around the other man, pulling him in closer to his side.

‘Finn…’ Seth started then stopped, trying to find the right words. ‘How… how bad did it get?’ He felt the older man tense up beneath his touch and quickly changed his mind. ‘It’s ok, you don’t have to tell me.’

‘No, it’s ok,’ Finn replied, bringing his forearms down to rest on his thighs. ‘You can ask me anything. I trust you.’

‘Did he…’ Seth stopped again, struggling to form the words on his tongue, such vulgar, nasty words. ‘Did he… hurt you?’

‘You want to know if he raped me?’ Finn asked, bluntly, stunning the junior officer.

‘I don’t, I mean, you don’t have to-‘

‘Yes, he raped me. Repeatedly,’ Finn went on, ignoring Seth’s fumbles. Of course, Seth knew this to be true on some level, but to hear it said aloud and so matter-of-factly from the Hibernian had caught him completely off-guard.

‘Finn…’ was all he could bring himself to say, feeling every sinew in his body tighten with grief for the older man, wanting nothing more than to scrub the history from the records, to have acted when he could and free the Hibernian before any of this terrible episode could occur. But he couldn’t. What had happened had happened. There was no going back. All he could offer now was an attentive ear.

‘I tried to fight back once in the beginning,’ Finn explained, staring down at his fingers as they fidgeted in his lap. ‘Tried to slice his throat with a razor blade, but he overpowered me. Spent the night torturing me with the very same blade. After that, I stopped fighting. It pleased him. He took my obedience as a sign of affection; in return he bought me this.’ Finn’s fingers moved to the intricate gold band at his throat, locked tight into place. ‘When he left for the south, it was like his jaws finally unclamped themselves from around my neck. Those were the days I was happiest in that place. I was still a prisoner but with my master gone, I spent more time outside with Sir Finlay and Becky rarely left my cell. I was also able to sleep in bed without any fear of assault.

‘It all changed the day he returned. You know the man as well as anyone, you know how proud and impatient he is. Being confined to bed sharpened his rage and he grew more temperamental by the day. By being the closest in proximity to him, I was often the outlet for his mood swings, sometimes he would even strike me for unknown reasons. I tried to avoid him when I could by staying out on the balcony and I was so relieved when they gave him his daily dose of poppy as it would knock him out for hours.

‘Despite his actions towards me, he started to become insanely possessive of me. He became aware of my friendship with Becky and Sir Finlay and became consumed with jealousy, sending them both away. I was left completely alone, trapped all day, every day with him. He would have me conduct drills on his bedchamber floor, barking orders at me until I collapsed from exhaustion. I was often left lying there on the cold, hard floor, stepped over by the servants who came to attend to Corbin. He had ordered everyone in the household to ignore me, or else they would receive the same punishment as Becky. Naturally, they all happily complied.’

Finn’s sat up straight and fixed Seth with an intense stare, his topaz eyes burning in the light of the moon.

‘I hate him,’ he snarled, his teeth glinting as he pulled back his lips. ‘I hate him with every fibre of my being.’

After seeing Finn safely back to his chambers, Seth returned to the officer’s solar and collapsed into his chair, the papers on his desk left untouched from before. He let out the breath he felt he’d been holding in since he first encountered Finn that evening, rubbing his hands over his face. Now that he knew what Finn had endured at the hands of Corbin, he knew he couldn’t allow him to return to that monster. _But we only had two weeks left; how on earth are we going to pull this off?_

‘Surely the Architect hasn’t run out of ideas?’

The sudden sound of the other voice in the room jolted Seth, almost knocking him out of his chair. Clutching his pounding heart, he finally spotted the man who had seemingly materialized into the chair opposite him. In complete contrast to Seth’s frantic state, the older man was very calm with his fingers knitted together in his lap, his thumbs lightly tapping against each other.

‘Regal?’ Seth gasped out, finally recognising the stranger. ‘What are you doing here?’

The older man smiled easily, leaning back in his chair. ‘I heard a rumour that there would be an exam taking place here in just over two weeks,’ he replied. ‘And considering that overseeing exams is one of my prime duties, I felt it necessary to hop on the first boat over to this lovely island.’

‘You heard about this all the way over in Londinium?’ Seth asked, skeptically.

‘One of your fellow officers told me,’ Regal offered by way of explanation. ‘Tall chap, very fond of a drink, Caledonian.’

‘McIntyre,’ Seth grumbled under his breath.

‘I couldn’t help but notice how pleased he seemed when it was announced that Field Commander Corbin will be taking over as High Constable.’ Seth gulped, his task officially becoming all the more serious. ‘I found him in a local tavern I frequent, bought him a couple of drinks and asked him the reason for his merriment. At first he would only say that Corbin now owed him something. A few pints later and his tongue loosened considerably.’

Seth felt a cold sweat bead at the back of his neck. Here, sitting before him was Lord William Regal, the King’s very own appointed military advisor. Regal had been the one who’d trained him when he joined the King’s Shield, who’s fellow protégés included the likes of Captain Daniel Bryan and the disgraced Colonel Phillip Jack Brooks. He had always admired the battle-hardened war hero yet here he was, having jumped onto a ship the moment he heard of Corbin and Seth’s wager. _Why?_ Seth wondered, feeling uneasy.

Regal, sensing Seth’s concern, leant forward, placing his interlaced hands on the table before him. ‘I watched you and the young man training earlier today. It’s not going well, is it?’ Seth knew better than to answer him by any other means than shaking his head. ‘I have come to help you.’

‘Help us?’ Seth stammered, not believing what he was hearing. ‘But why?’

‘You forget, dear Seth,’ Regal said, getting to his feet, ‘that even though I am of the Cross and loyal to the King, I am also isle-born. I do not wish to see a fellow Albion treated in this manner.’ He made his way towards the door, Seth left flabbergasted by his generosity. ‘I have already organised the guest quarters to be set up for my stay,’ Regal said as he opened the door. ‘I expect to see you at dawn so we may begin.’

‘Yes, sir, and sir,’ Regal paused in the doorway, ‘thank you, sir!’

‘You can thank me after we win this little bet,’ Regal gave a lazy smile before leaving the room.

Finn stood on the training ground, practice sword in hand, awaiting his trainer to arrive. He glanced over at Apollo who had woken him earlier than usual and practically stuffed him into his armour. There was a nervous tension about the officer’s aid today. Finn would have enquired about it but guessing that it was a military matter and therefore none of his business, he chose not to.

Finally he spotted the two-tone haired man exiting the officer’s tower and was surprised to find he was not alone. An older man sauntered alongside him, hands behind his back, an easy breeze about him. He had dark blonde hair, parted in the middle with curls gracefully tumbling down the side of his head past the tops of his ears. He was slightly taller than Rollins and broader. His build reminded him of Sir Finlay’s. Solid, strong, unrelenting. He had a feeling that this man was as deceptively spry as the old knight had been too.

The two men approached, Apollo shaking the older man’s hand with a tremour to his voice, very unlike the normally easy-going aid, Finn noted suspiciously. Finally, the newcomer turned to Finn, looked him up and down with a trained eye and smiled casually. ‘So this is our diamond in the rough,’ he chuckled, offering his hand.

‘This is him,’ Seth confirmed, his smile answering Finn’s enquiring look. ‘This is Finn Bálor. Finn, this is Lord William Regal.’

The penny dropped and Finn’s mouth fell slightly ajar as he accepted the older man’s hand. He had a solid grip.

‘You know of me?’ Regal queried, seeing the shock on the younger man’s face.

‘Yes, m’lord,’ Finn replied, his mouth suddenly dry. All isle-born knew of the Regal family. He came from a long, distinguished military lineage. William’s father had been a revered leader in the Anglian king’s army, known for his superior knowledge of combat and tactical thinking. He could read a battlefield as deftly as a scholar read script and through his quick thinking had been victorious in many a battle. He was the hero the entire country looked up to when the Army of the Cross invaded Anglia over thirty-five years ago.

The war had raged for close to three years and had yielded vast losses on both sides. When Anglia fell, the rest of the isles knew they would follow suit. Regal’s father had been captured by the enemy but his skills piqued the interest of the Cross. They gave him a choice; join our ranks or die. He chose death and was swiftly taken to the axe-man’s block, leaving his land and title to William, who was only a boy of eleven at the time.

Young Regal grew up under the rule of the Cross and subsequently became a loyal follower of its holy texts and joined its impressive army when he came of age. It soon became apparent that Regal Junior had inherited his father’s talent for tactical combat and he’d swiftly risen through the ranks. Regal had fought for the Cross in foreign lands, each time bringing victory for his King and Emperor and increasing his stock in the minds of his peers. A heart condition prevented him from gaining any more glory on the battlefield and he retired from active duty, retuning to Londinium where the King appointed him as his military advisor, a position he continued to excel in to this day.

Regal was a rare breed. An isle-born turned to the Cross yet was not viewed as a traitor by his fellow Albions and admired by all. He had made a success of his life without shedding a drop of Albion blood. At least, not directly.

And here he was, the man himself, standing before Finn shaking his hand. ‘What brings you to Hibernia, m’lord?’ Finn asked, feeling a little star-struck.

‘Oh, we’ll have none of that ‘m’lord’ nonsense,’ he laughed warmly, ‘you may call me sir, just like any other soldier.’ Finn would never consider contradicting the older man but the change in his expression did not fool the older man. ‘Ah, but you doubt that you are a soldier, don’t you?’

‘I don’t believe I am built of the right material,’ Finn admitted, lowering his head.

‘Well, that’s what I’m here to decide,’ Regal explained. Finn was sure that he had heard him wrong. ‘I will be assisting Officer Rollins here to train you for your exam.’

Now Finn was now certain he had misheard. His blue eyes shot over to Seth, his eyebrows high on his forehead, seeking the true explanation of the legendary soldier’s appearance but Seth only shrugged in response. It couldn’t be true… could it?

‘Th-thank you, sir,’ Finn uttered but Regal only scoffed good-naturedly.

‘What is it with you young ones always saying thanks when I haven’t done a bloody thing. Right, come on chaps, let’s get started, shall we? Seth, as we discussed.’

Regal went to stand some paces away and Seth took over the session. Instead of brandishing a training sword for sparring, however, Seth unbuckled his gauntlets and dropped them to the ground. Finn watched on with confusion as he then discarded his breast and back plate, the heavy armour landing with a clang before depositing his greaves. Finn opened his mouth to probe about this strange behavior when Seth’s hands went to the collar of his tunic and he pulled it over his head. Finn’s mouth clammed shut.

Before he could help himself, he found his gaze wandering over Seth’s bare torso. The man was in incredible shape, sporting an abdomen that, while not as sculpted as Finn’s, was well defined with a thin layer of dark fuzz lining his tanned skin. Much to Finn’s puzzlement he felt his cheeks begin to burn. It only worsened when Seth pulled down his breeches until he stood wearing nothing but a subligaculum similar to the one Finn had worn while in Corbin’s possession.

Finn stood dumb-struck, blinking several times, his mind fogged. He had no doubt that all present could see the blush shine red against his pale skin and judging from Seth’s smug grin, the junior officer was enjoying being the one ogled for a change. Thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to punish Finn for it.

‘Regal and I have been in talks,’ he said, by way of explaining his odd behavior, ‘and we wished to try something different today as part of your training. We want to get back to basics so we’re going to have an old-fashioned wrestle.’ Finn had never wrestled before but he was game for a challenge. ‘Apollo, if you may?’

Apollo began to untie the bonds of Finn’s breastplate while Finn removed his gauntlets and greaves, tossing the heavy armour aside with disdain. ‘Your tunic too,’ Seth ordered, ‘but you may keep your breeches if you wish.’

‘I’ll be damned if I’ll let you humiliate yourself alone,’ Finn shot back with a cheeky grin on his lips, quoting the very tale that he knew Seth had taken inspiration from. Finn stripped until he was left in only his collar and subligaculum. He was too embarrassed to admit that he had worn it every day since leaving Corbin’s. A part of him liked the sense of familiarity in a world that was constantly changing around him, but mainly it was the fear of Corbin still festering deep inside. Likewise, he had asked Apollo for a razor so that he may continue the grooming regime that had been ingrained in him ten long months ago, allowing only the whiskers on his jaw to grow.

Both men, once disrobed, faced each other, stretching out their limbs in anticipation. Regal gave the command and the pair began to edge towards one another, knees bent, spines arched, arms outstretched to attack or block. Seth made the first move, splaying his fingers to entice Finn’s hand into his, but as soon as Finn made contact, Seth jerked him forward and locked his arm tight around his neck. Finn struggled like a feral cat and managed to twist his way out of Seth’s chokehold, dancing away to regain some space and catch his breath.

‘Good lad,’ Regal praised from the sideline. ‘Don’t make this easy for the New World bastard.’ Seth ignored the taunt and smiled proudly at Finn. The Hibernian returned the gesture. He could feel it himself. It was like a great weight had been thrown off and he was as light as a feather once more. Now, he could show Seth precisely what he could do.

The pair locked up again, hands clasped together above their heads, trying to overpower the other. Finn knew he couldn’t beat Seth in a battle of strength so he feinted, knocking the junior officer off-balance. Finn used Seth’s momentum to dance behind him, pulling one of Seth’s captured arms up at a painful angle. Seth was forced down onto one knee, his teeth gnashed in pain. Finn applied more pressure, trying to force Seth to submit but Seth swept his leg behind him in an attempt to trip the Hibernian up. Finn jumped back, missing the blow but forced to release Seth’s arm.

‘That was a nasty move,’ Seth noted, rubbing the feeling back into his arm.

‘I learnt it from Corbin,’ Finn replied.

Seth nodded, fathoming the hidden meaning behind Finn’s words. ‘This aggression is good, Finn. Keep it up. Give me everything you’ve got.’

They sparred this way until late morning, by which time both men were completely spent. At the conclusion, Finn lay on his back, gasping air back into his battered lungs, Seth sat upright next to him, sweating profusely. Neither could find the words to speak so Seth proudly patted Finn on the shoulder, the Hibernian grinning back. He felt good. In fact, he felt great! Though Seth had been the clear victor in their battles, subduing him several times, Finn had put up a fierce fight. He had rediscovered his quickness and had managed to run rings around his opponent, proving as difficult to pin down as a slippery eel. He had also been able to react better to Seth’s movements, his body actually listening when he told it to dodge, to attack and to block. It had felt just like it had back home on his stepfather’s farm.

He heard footsteps coming towards them and looked up to see Regal smiling down at the pair, a small laugh emitting from his chest. ‘It’s exactly as we suspected,’ Regal said to Seth, who nodded in reply.

‘It’s the armour that’s the problem,’ Seth clarified. ‘It’s weighing you down, making you lose your natural speed and agility.’

‘But I thought it was the first lesson a soldier learns?’ Finn panted out from the ground. ‘To learn the burden of their duties. How can I pass the exam without armour?’

‘That is true,’ Regal nodded solemnly, his hands placed behind his back. ‘Any other soldier beginning his training would normally be expected to bear the weight of his armour for his final exam.’ He looked at Finn, cocking his head to the side. ‘But you’re no normal soldier are you? These men would have months to master these skills while you don’t even have one full month. I believe there is a case here for an exception and considering I make the rules, I have the authority to override it this once.’

On hearing this, Finn pounced up onto his feet, his exhaustion forgotten for the moment. ‘Thank you, m’lord… I mean, thank you, sir.’ He offered his hand and Regal kindly accepted it, albeit with a playful roll of his eyes. ‘So, what comes next?’

‘Don’t you want to rest a while?’ Regal asked the young man to which Finn shook his head.

‘I’m ready to do as you command.’ This was directed at both Regal and Seth, the latter of which exchanged a look of pure relief with Apollo. The aid bowed his head as if to say ‘I never doubted you’ before uttering cheekily, ‘sir, I must say, this is a good look for you’ to which Seth let out a lighthearted cackle.

At Regal’s command, the full party took a fifteen-minute break to quench their thirst and allow their bodies to recuperate. By the time Seth returned from the kitchens, he found Finn eagerly waiting at the training grounds. It warmed Seth’s soul to see the change in the young man’s demeanour after he had become so downhearted the past few days. He adored that wide, boyish smile of Finn’s and he would do anything to keep it lighting up the young Hibernian’s face.

He had to admit, he was still reeling from their bout earlier. Being in such close proximity with Finn, actually able to touch that wondrously pale skin, place his hands upon it and feel the taut muscle contracting beneath had been like a dream come true. Add to the scenario the tickle of Finn’s warm breath on his neck, the sounds of his grunts and heavy panting as he danced around him, it had almost succeeded in stealing his breath away. It had gotten so bad that he had felt a heat burn between his legs by the end and was thankful for the break to find a secluded spot to compose himself.

Finn made him feel such _sensations_. Overbearing, uncontrollable, intense feelings. He hadn’t felt this way since... 

But he knew that no matter how much these feelings boiled inside of him, he couldn’t act upon them. From what he’d gathered of Finn, despite his blatant ogling of Seth’s body earlier, the Hibernian was not interested in the same sex and Seth was never going to do anything to make him feel pressured or uncomfortable. Lord knows he’d already had one tyrant force his desire upon him.

Ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, Seth sauntered up to Finn, offering a rag to pat the sweat still sticking to his sweeping forehead. His short dark hair was sticking to his scalp, he noted fondly and his stunning physique shimmered under the sunlight. He didn’t realise he was staring until he heard Finn chuckle warmly.

‘I don’t know what you’re admiring,’ Finn teased the junior officer, ‘I stink like Old Cally.’

‘Old Cally?’ Seth asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘The pig back at the farm,’ he explained with a laugh. ‘Her actual name was Cailleach meaning old hag. She outlived most of her piglets, the majestic swine.’ His eyebrows drew together as if a thought had just occurred to him. ‘You remember a week ago, that night at Corbin’s? After I heard about him leaving for Londinium. You tried to cheer me up with that game-?’ Seth felt a shudder climb up his spine at the thought and began to apologise when Finn cut him off. ‘What were you going to say?’

Seth suddenly felt very stupid and childish and didn’t want to answer but those captivating eyes bore into him and melted any resolve he harboured. ‘I… I was going to say, that…’ he let out a sigh and blurted, ‘I was going to say you must be Aengus.’

Finn stared at him with confusion for a second but as the words settled in, that cheeky grin broke out on his face, getting wider and wider. ‘Aengus? As in… Dream Aengus?’ he smirked.

‘Why not?’ Seth went on the defensive. ‘A young, handsome man who could woo any pretty face he came into contact with.’

Finn couldn’t hold back the laughter and Seth felt his cheeks turn a deep scarlet. The Hibernian, finally sensing Seth’s humiliation calmed himself and placed a hand on the junior officer’s shoulder. ‘I am really flattered, Seth,’ he said, ‘truly I am. But I am not as lofty a creature as you make me out to be. I’m no deity, not even a member of the pantheon for that matter. However… you are getting closer.’

‘Guess I’ll have to do more reading then,’ Seth grumbled but the smile had returned to his lips.

Regal’s return signaled the start of their next session. Seth threw Finn a training sword and shield and went to pull his breeches back on but when Finn tried the same, Seth stopped him. ‘Hold on, just for a little longer. I’m wanting to try something here.’

‘Really?’ Finn asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Or is this just an excuse to keep me in my smalls?’

‘I’m not Corbin,’ Seth said, both his face and expression turning serious. ‘I’ll never do anything to make you uncomfortable.’

‘You don’t make me uncomfortable,’ Finn reassured him and placed his breeches back down. ‘So what exactly are you concocting in that head of yours?’

‘I’m stealing a page from your stepfather’s book actually,’ Seth explained which caught Finn’s full attention. ‘When he sparred with you, he used the bruises on your body to count how often he hit you. We’re going to try something similar here, work out where your weak spots are and see what can be done to protect them.’

Finn gave his full approval of the plan and together, the young men began to spar. Already, Finn could feel the full benefit of being free from the armour. It was as if everything he had been taught by his stepfather came rushing back into him like a powerful tide and suddenly Seth was struggling to land the hits he had before. However, in the end, the junior officer was superior in training and combat experience and he managed to penetrate Finn’s defenses several times, landing nasty whacks with his wooden sword on Finn’s exposed skin. The marks burned bright against the porcelain flesh and by the end of their sparring session, they had a clear map on what they had to work with.

Apollo came hobbling over, barely holding on to a mammoth pile that clinked and clanked when he tossed it to the floor for Seth’s inspection. The man with the golden streak complimented his aid on a job well done as both he and Regal began to rummage through the pieces, pulling out several that they liked the look of.

‘You’re right-handed which means you often leave your left side open to attack,’ Regal noted, pointing out the red welts that lined Finn’s left shoulder and ribs. Seth walked over with something in his hand and proceeded to dress Finn with it, placing a solid block on his left shoulder with a leather strap crossing his back, under his armpit to buckle over his right pectoral.

‘This is called a galerus,’ Seth explained, checking the armour was securely fitted. ‘Gladiators back in the Ancient Lands used to wear these in the arena. It will keep your left side protected but not hinder your movement too much. Now to protect that left arm.’

A small oval shield that buckled around the forearm was removed from the pile next and added to Finn’s suit. ‘That’s better,’ Regal grinned, taking Finn’s old training shield away. ‘It also frees up your left hand for combat too.’ Finn just nodded; he knew the two men were up to something but he couldn’t follow their train of thought so he just stood obediently while they dressed him like a tailor’s mannequin. Some items were tested and discarded, others were approved but swapped over for lighter material such as leather or wood. Every so often, the pair would pause and ask Finn to try moving about, swipe his sword, try and dodge like he had during the sparring. After these requests more changes would take place until, finally, just as Finn felt the first yawn bubble up inside of him, the two soldiers stepped back and revealed the suit was complete.

This left Finn in his galerus, small oval shield, short leather greaves that covered his wrists, a wide leather belt to protect his waist and bands of leather wrapped over his shins and knees with his metal greaves on top. They had tried to apply boots but Finn had refused for fear of Corbin finding out. Since that day at the docks, he had obeyed his master and kept barefoot, yet another constant reminder that he was still a slave.

‘The extra weight on your legs will take a little getting used to,’ Regal confessed, ‘but this is the best we can do. This will protect your weak spots and still allow you the freedom of movement you need. Obviously you can wear your tunic and breeches underneath. Does it feel ok?’

‘It feels… heavy,’ Finn noted, testing the weight of the suit, ‘but not as cumbersome as the metal plates. I can work with this.’

‘Shall we try it out?’ Seth grinned, brandishing the training sword. Finn smiled back, nodding enthusiastically. Seth threw him the wooden weapon, the two men facing each other, poised, excited for the battle ahead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian questions his desires

Two days later and the change in Finn was akin to night and day. Gone were his frustrations and pessimism to be replaced with unrelenting enthusiasm for his training, to the point that he was often the first one out on the field, already dressed in his unique suit of armour, warming up for the day’s sparring sessions. He was rapidly getting used to the extra weight on his legs and had even incorporated the extra bulk into his fighting style, adding kicks to knock his enemies off balance and bring them down.

With each passing day and every improvement he made, Finn felt a change well up inside of him, as if all of Corbin’s ice that had frozen his insides was thawing, his internal winter slowly melting away to be replaced by the warm sun and cleansing rains of spring. One day, as he felt this shift in his chest, Finn found himself looking over to Seth who was busy chatting to Regal and thinking what elements the junior officer harnessed inside of him. Was he made of fire like Becky? Is that what was melting Corbin’s ice? No, that didn’t seem to fit the mild mannered young man, there was too much sadness in those eyes to possess fire. He found himself wishing he had mastered the art like Becky had so that he could read him.

His heart gave a small pang; he missed Becky and thinking of her physically pained him.

That morning, at Seth’s insistence that Finn needed some time out of the same four walls, the two men went for a run. It was a welcome change for Finn who felt his body had rusted like old iron having been locked up for so long. He struggled at first, his limbs and lungs taking time to adjust but after catching what Seth called his ‘second wind’, he kept up a quick pace alongside the junior officer.

Every day, without fail, Seth would impress Finn all the more. The younger man was certainly accomplished in his field, a natural athlete coupled with a focused discipline that few possessed. He had mastered most forms of combat, switching effortlessly from broadsword to claymore to halberd without missing a step. He was as deft fighting with a weapon as he was with his own fists and even under the weight of a full suit of armour, he lost none of his quickness.

As of that moment, Finn was in admiration of his athleticism, the junior officer barely breaking a sweat as they ran through the streets of Dubhlinn until they escaped through the town gates and up into the surrounding hills. Only once the climb became steep did Finn feel his old stamina return and took the lead, leaping higher and higher up the hillside as if he had springs on the soles of his feet. He smiled broadly on feeling the crisp air at his cheek, the warm southern wind whip at his hair and tunic, the sun shining fully on his brow. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and imagining he was back in those majestic mountains he had once called his own.

Seth’s laboured breathing brought him back from his daydream and he reached down to help the younger man up onto the ledge. ‘I swear you are part mountain goat,’ Seth grinned cheekily as he sat down to rest. Finn didn’t join him, the thrill of the climb still singing inside of him, urging him to go higher and higher. He stood, restlessly shuffling from foot to foot, watching the wind chase the clouds across the late summer’s sky.

‘You may be right there,’ Finn replied, closing his eyes again to take in the smell of hawthorn and gorse, the trill of birds drifting in the breeze, the warming caress of the sun’s rays. ‘I’ve always felt most at ease in the mountains.’ He turned his eyes south, seeking out the familiar peeks of the Wicklow range. It didn’t take him long, he could see the ancient sentinels through the thin haze, each one a dear, old friend. ‘It wouldn’t take long you know,’ he said suddenly, his blue eyes transfixed on the horizon. ‘A couple days at the most. By the time they realised we were missing, we would be long gone.’

Seth narrowed his eyes at the Hibernian, Finn keeping his gaze dead ahead, visually mapping out the trail they could take to navigate the mountains safely.

‘What about Corbin?’

‘He can be torn apart by dogs for all I care,’ Finn spat, the hate marring his handsome features.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Seth pointed out. ‘You said it yourself, he would not rest until he found you.’ He hated the impact his words had on the older man, deflating his joy as sharply as a spear to the lung. ‘And when he found you, he would-‘

‘I am aware,’ Finn snapped, cutting Seth off. ‘I do not need a reminder.’ With a low growl, he averted his gaze, turning his back on his beloved mountains.

Neither of the pair spoke for a time, the silence broken only by the late summer wind whistling past as it whipped hair and tunic playfully. Seth grew restless and began to tear at the overgrown grass reaching up to his knees and finally, unable to cope with the tension, he took a daring chance.

‘That song you sang on the farm,’ he looked down at his fidgeting hands, ‘the one your mother taught you. Can you sing it for me… please?’

For a while, Finn did not respond and Seth’s heart smacked the inside of his ribs, scolding him for his audacity. The feeling only worsened when Finn finally turned to face him, his features doing little to hide the worry in his eyes. ‘I already told you, Seth,’ he sighed, ‘that song is forbidden. If we were caught-‘

‘Look around you,’ Seth replied, spreading his arms out to highlight the isolation that surrounded them. ‘There is nobody here for miles around. I promise you it is safe.’ His expression softened and he smiled at Finn to try and reassure him. ‘Please sing it for me. It was a beautiful song.’

Seth felt his heart sink when Finn turned his back on him again and he worried that he had offended the young Hibernian. He lowered his head sadly only for his ears to pick up the lilting voice raised gently in song. The haunting melody immediately brought him back to that night at the stables, when he had first heard Finn sing the ballad. The night that Seth had labeled him a siren and now, hearing it again, his opinion had not altered. The strangeness of the foreign language and the emotion he emitted with every verse pulled at Seth’s senses, sending him into a stupour. It was like taking a swig of McIntyre’s whisky; though it made the eyes water at first, the flavour soon softened and as the drinker grew more intoxicated, the craved more of the sweet nectar.

He was so far into his throes that be didn’t even notice when Finn had finished his song. It took several minutes for him to open his eyes and he found the Hibernian staring intently at him. Something jolted in Seth’s chest as he spied the way Finn’s topaz orbs probed him, burrowing deeper than he had ever gone before, as if his gaze had gained a physical presence and Seth could literally feel it penetrate his skin, his flesh, his bone. His soul laid itself naked and ready for the intruder, waiting to be devoured by the all-seeing eyes of teal and cerulean. Seth became aware of something squirming in his lower gut, a kind of primal excitement that rose up out of the fear of such a gaze and when he felt himself stir in his breeches, he knew he had to break the moment up before he made a fool of himself.

‘We’d best head back before Regal finishes his noon-time meal.’ He shakily found his feet, twisting his body away in case Finn should see the evidence of his arousal and began to descend the way they came.

Something was wrong. Finn could sense it but couldn’t fathom what it was exactly. From the moment they left the hillside and jogged home together in silence, Seth always keeping one step ahead of Finn as if hiding away from him, there had been a strange feeling in the air, looming like a great beast in the room that both parties were somehow choosing to ignore.

And Finn could _feel_ it. Feel something sickening and almost painful in his gut, twisting his insides into excruciating knots that pushed him near the brink of throwing up. Had he taken ill? There was no chill that morning, the sun had been full, the day fresh and warm. Yet, why did he suddenly feel weak with fever?

It had improved as he sat alone and forced down the noon-time meal in front of him, although the fresh broth sat heavily in his squirming stomach. He had stared down into the cold, fireplace beside him, using the emptiness of the grate as an anchor to cull the anxious thoughts from his chaotic mind, an exercise that Becky had taught him to help him cope with the day-to-day pressures of Corbin’s servitude. But he had never mastered this particular parlour trick and the fog continued to cloud his skull, thick and impenetrable.

He felt his weakness all the more when he arrived at the training ground and Seth looked upon him with concern. ‘Finn, are you unwell?’ he’d asked, placing the back of his hand across the Hibernian’s brow. Finn instinctively flinched away from the touch, insisting that he would shake off the ague once they began. He felt hot and clammy, even in the limited armour he usually sported and suggested another wrestling bout to ease himself into the afternoon session. He began to remove his tunic and breeches, feeling the fresh air hitting his exposed skin – though it did not ease his fever as much as he’d hoped – and only once he reassured Seth two more times that he was fine, did Seth strip off his clothing too.

The first time Finn had wrestled Seth, he had enjoyed it. Removing the cumbersome plates of armour had freed his limbs and he had flown like a bird made of hollow bones. But now, again, something wasn’t right. His head wasn’t in the present, still lost in the blinding fog and his body was left to fend for itself. Before, he had been focused on Seth’s movement, noting the shift in his hip and waist to anticipate his next move and react accordingly. Now, Finn just felt boxed in and Seth felt… _so close!_ Like rope tightly binding him.

Suddenly Finn was far more aware of Seth’s body. As Seth wrapped his arms around Finn’s waist, he panicked at how close they came to his pelvis, sitting just above the cloth of his subligaculum, something that had never once crossed his mind before. He thought for a second that Seth was trying to reach into the fabric and froze but instead, the younger man used his grip to haul Finn off his feet and plunge him into the ground.

The fogginess only grew as Finn felt Seth pin him down to the floor, the younger man’s full body weight on his back. He could feel the heat radiating from his sweaty skin, feel the tickle of his breath on Finn’s neck, felt his arms release his waist only to grab at his wrists and hold them both tightly in a vice-like grip.

It was a primal reaction, one that Finn had no control over and regretted the moment he did it. He gave a yelp of terror and pulling one arm free from Seth’s hold, thrust his elbow back until it smacked flush into Seth’s nose. He heard a nasty crack and Seth’s gasp of pain. The weight was off of him in an instant and Finn scrambled away, panting rapidly, even though they had barely began their sparring.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ Seth cursed behind him and Finn turned to see the younger man clutching his nose, which was now streaming with blood. Regal was at his side, offering a rag to help staunch the flow.

‘A lovely shot,’ the elder man noted nonchalantly as Seth clutched the rag to his face, ‘but need I remind you that this is a training exercise and such force is not a requirement here.’

Finn was struck with the result of his actions. ‘I’m so sorry, Seth,’ he stammered, overwhelmed with guilt but the panic was still present in his chest. He needed to get away, he needed some time to calm down. ‘I… I’ll get some water.’ Before either Regal or Seth had a chance to debate the matter, Finn jumped to his feet and fled the training ground.

Seth was at a loss what to do. Finn hadn’t been acting normal since that morning on the hillside and now, Seth knew that something was seriously wrong. With one hand keeping the rag to his nose, Seth tried to stand up meaning to chase after Finn but Regal held him down with a firm grip on his shoulder.

‘Leave him be,’ the Anglian warned but Seth struggled against the older man’s grip.

‘I can’t!’ he protested. ‘You saw how he was. Something’s the matter and I have to go help him.’

‘I did see,’ Regal countered, his voice strong and commanding, his eyes boring down into Seth’s. ‘More than you, it seems. It was _you_ that caused the young man so much distress.’

Seth stopped struggling, feeling all of the wind leave his chest. Regal, seeing the way the younger man’s face fell with the revelation, softened his gaze and released his grip on Seth’s arm. ‘Did something happen between you two?’

‘N-no,’ Seth shook his head, trying desperately to think of some reason why Finn would behave this way towards him all of a sudden. ‘I mean… we went for a run together this morning and went up high into the hills. He was… happy. Free even, like a bird taking to the skies again after breaking its wing. I didn’t notice anything wrong… I…’

One glance up at Regal’s face told Seth he wasn’t buying it and Seth knew he had to confess. ‘There was this… tension, suddenly.’ Seth had been reliving that moment over and over in his head ever since that morning, trying to remember every single facet, every raw sensation that stabbed through his body, how the sun’s light penetrated Finn’s eyes, turning them into a living spectrum of every shade of blue imaginable, colouring them all the more intense.

Regal’s voice snapped Seth from his thoughts, thankfully before the growing bulge in his breeches grew any more. ‘Then perhaps it is best to give the young man some space,’ the Anglian suggested. ‘We have to remember that he is recovering from trauma that would have broken lesser men. We do not wish to cause him any more anguish.’

Seth nodded, feeling his heart sink to the soles of his boots. That was the last thing he wanted, but then, his wants did not matter there and then. He had to think about what was best for Finn.

Finn stumbled blindly through the maze of corridors, accidently bumping into soldiers and servants as they passed by. Each gave a harsh look of rebuttal that transformed into a curious gaze, noticing how the dark haired man trundled on in some kind of hazy trance. Finn ignored every enquiring glance, muttering out a quick apology before marching on, his head feeling as if it was stuffed full of straw and mud and feeling a desperate need to cleanse it.

He finally reached his destination, the washroom, and was relieved to find it empty. He pushed the door shut and dragged a chair to jam under the handle so ensure he would not be disturbed for a while. His legs were growing weak and he used the last ounce of energy they had to stagger towards a basin before they gave out. Leaning heavily on the wooden tub to support his failing limbs, he stared down into the still pool of water, feeling the sweat beading his forehead.

He reeled in shock as he spied his reflection. Decked in nothing but subligaculum and collar, it was not Finn, the soldier-in-training staring back at him, it was David the slave and that same raw panic was etched on his face, the same fear that had clung to him every single day since Corbin had dragged him away from his home. His heart wrung inside of his chest as he realised that everything around him was a beautiful lie. He had made no progress at all, he was still trapped, a prisoner in a cage and Corbin had as much control over him now as he did when he was locked up tight in his master’s bedchamber.

Finn gnashed his teeth so tightly they nearly shattered from the pressure. Letting out a great roar, he raised his fist and slammed it into the face of the slave before him until it distorted under the erratic ripples of the water.

The irrational outburst helped to quell his anger and he stood, his fingers gnarled white around the rim of the basin and he closed his eyes, taking in a deep shuddering breath.

_Water!_ The voice in head brokered no argument. Returning his weight to his feet, he scooped up the cool water in both hands and splashed it over his face. He felt better already and scooped up another handful, letting the water run freely over his scalp and down the back of his neck, dripping in large wet blobs off of his thinly bearded chin and nose. He breathed in again, focusing on the peaceful silence around him until finally the overwhelming emotion dissipated like rainclouds on a sunny day.

He opened his eyes, continuing to focus on his breathing. _In. Out. In. Out._ He was calm again, relaxed. Yet his mind was still restless.

It constantly went back to that moment, repeating over and over again that moment on the hillside.

Why had he asked him to sing? Finn had inherited none of his mother’s singing talent and would miss more notes than he hit – but on seeing the hopeful look on Seth’s face, he found he could not refuse him. To compensate, he turned away, unable to look at Seth while he blundered through the lullaby his mother would sing him at night. Only once he had finished did he dare to turn back, a small laugh bubbling inside of him as he saw the junior officer under some kind of spell from the tune, sitting with his head tilted back and eyes closed, completely unaware that the song was long over.

Something strange happened in that moment. As he watched the stupefied soldier, Finn felt, for the first time ever, that he was looking, truly _looking_ at the young New-Worlder. Then, without warning, Seth’s eyes opened and Finn felt a lightning bolt hit his chest. How had he never noticed how large Seth’s eyes were? Large and dark, like a doe in the woods, deep and full of mystery. They blinked back at him and Finn noticed how thick the younger man’s lashes were, only adding to his allure and beauty. How he longed to probe further into those eyes, to finally unravel the enigma that was this kind yet troubled young man.

Finn found his gaze drifting down to Seth’s lips, skating across sun-kissed skin that was damp from exercise and glistening in the sunlight like a mountain pool. Finn felt himself drowning in the waters but cared little as he focused on those deep pink lips, looking ripe and juicy. To his utter surprise he found himself hungry, angling for a bite of the sweet fruit. A growing heat in his breeches urged him on.

Finn blinked hard, failing to tear his gaze away. The skin on his cheeks were on fire and he felt something tighten uncomfortably in his chest. He could sense Seth perplexity, felt the younger man’s eyes boring deep into him. There was an imbalance there, a sense of dominance, only Finn couldn’t fathom which of the two was wielding said power. It distressed him greatly.

Rubbing another handful of water of his face, Finn forced his mind back to the present. That same burning sensation between his legs returned, his worst dread manifesting itself like the devil at a crossroads on a stormy night and Finn felt the whole world crashing down onto him. ‘Damn you Corbin!’ he spat, gripping the edge of the basin so tightly his fists began to shake from the effort. ‘You bastard. You knew exactly what you were doing, the whole feckin’ time.’

He felt tears sting his eyes but he held them back. He had long ago promised himself that he would never shed his despair because of Corbin and he meant to live by that vow. The moment that single drop dashed his cheek, Corbin would have stolen every little thing from him.

‘You’ve made certain that I will never find happiness again.’

He lost track of time in that lonely room, feeling his despair slowly simmer down until he regained enough courage to face the outside world. As soon as he left the safe refuge of the washroom and returned to the training ground, Finn felt that old familiar strangle in the pit of his gut, felt the pale skin on his cheeks flush and his head become so light he was near to fainting. To his surprise and relief, he found Regal waiting alone for him, sitting on a farrier’s stool smoking a pipe. He turned his face towards Finn as he approached, his expression revealing no anger or disappointment, not even intrigue into why the Hibernian had behaved so strangely before.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Ready to resume training, are we?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Finn replied. ‘Sir, I must apologise for my-‘

‘Apologies, apologies,’ Regal waved Finn’s remorse away with a careless swipe of his hand. ‘I swear, they will be the death of me one day. Let’s just focus on the lesson shall we?’ Finn warily looked around him. Regal read the unspoken question. ‘Junior Officer Rollins has been called elsewhere,’ he explained before taking a deep drag of pipeweed, blowing out a waft of sweet smelling vapour. ‘Never heed, I no longer had use for him in your training.’

‘You didn’t, sir?’ Finn asked, raising a brow.

‘Don’t misconstrue my meaning, young Finn,’ Regal went on, ‘Seth is an excellent soldier, what I call an ‘all-rounder’. Fast, strong cunning – he has it all, the lucky bugger. But every student is unique and you are no exception. You’re showing great progress, but I want to focus in on your strengths and improve upon them so that they may counteract your weaknesses.’

‘And what would my strengths be?’ Finn asked.

‘Ahhh,’ Regal teased, waving his pipe at the Hibernian. ‘Don’t play the modest servant with me, young man. You know your strengths, so tell me.’

Finn scratched the back of his head, pursing his lips. If he was truly honest, the last few week of training had only highlighted his lack of skill compared to Seth and he truly felt as if there were little positive aspects to work with. ‘I guess, I can be quite fast,’ he shrugged, trying to pluck ideas out of the air. Regal responded with a single nod of the head, urging Finn to continue. ‘And I can dodge pretty well, when I see an attack coming.’

‘Precisely,’ Regal smiled warmly, returning the pipe between his teeth. ‘If we work a little on your fitness, you will be faster and more agile than Seth ever will be and that will help protect you. They say the best offence is defense, and if you can dodge most attacks, it matters not if you strike your opponent as you will just as soon wear them out. That’s when the chinks in their armour begin to show, ready for you to plunge your knife in.’

Regal turned around and gave a sharp whistle and Finn watched as a man, younger in age than Seth, approached. He was a handsome youth, with dark skin, a cleanly shaved head and a neat beard lining his chin. He smiled broadly at Finn, holding his hand out to the Hibernian, which Finn shook in return.

‘Finn, this young man here is called Trevor Mann,’ Regal explained, before addressing the new arrival directly, ‘however, I believe your fellow soldiers have a different name for you, is that correct? Please, jog my memory.’

‘Ricochet,’ the younger man beamed proudly, yet without a hint of arrogance to his tone. ‘They said the way I move reminds them of arrows bouncing off of a phalanx.’

‘In other words,’ Regal turned to Finn with a knowing smirk, ‘he is fast.’ Smothering his pipe, he placed it into his pocket and walked over to the smith’s backdoor, a few feet away. ‘I have appointed Ricochet to be your new sparring partner in the hope that he will bring out the full potential of your speed. I also wish you to try another style of fighting, one I believe will suit your skills far better.’ He returned with two long wooden spears, mounted with a shard of wood, sharpened to a blunt point. ‘Seth told me you and your stepfather used to duel with staffs,’ Regal noted, passing Finn one of the spears. ‘You should find this somewhat similar. Just remember to try and stab your opponent with the pointy bit from time to time – it slows them down considerably.’

Finn tested the weight of the long spear in his hand and found Regal’s words to be true – it felt as familiar in his grasp as his staff had been. He danced it around in his grip, finding his old skills flooding back to him while his opponent looked on, a grin of anticipation on his face.

‘Give me your all,’ Ricochet said, crouching down into a fighting stance. ‘Don’t go easy on me because I certainly won’t go easy on you.’

‘Understood,’ Finn responded, a feeling of anticipation growing in his belly.

‘Combatants, ready?’ Regal raised his hand high as a signal. ‘Begin!’

Worn out, sore and exhausted, Finn walked to the mess hall after washing away the day’s sweat with the biggest grin on his face. His sparring session with Ricochet had been exactly what he needed. His newly appointed opponent was on a whole different level in terms of speed and agility and danced around Finn like no-one else had ever been able to in his life – even his stepfather would have had a difficult time pinning down the younger man.

Yet, this had not dampened the Hibernian’s spirits, in fact, it had lit a fire underneath him to improve. Regal had smiled knowingly from the sidelines. He always knew exactly what to do to get the result he needed from his pupils and seeing Finn observe Ricochet’s movements, analysing his footwork and how he twisted his body in order to improve his own technique was greatly satisfying. The spear had also been a revelation. Feeling as natural in his hand as his staff, he no longer had to waste any brainwork on maneuvering his weapon, instead he focused fully on his movements during battle. Finn knew, if he carried on in this manner, he would show signs of improvement within the week.

That would leave only one week…

He tried not to think of that. He couldn’t control his future, only his present. And by proving he could do this, he was spitting right in the Corbin’s face.

Entering the mess hall, he picked up a plateful of his meal and went to his usual spot in the corner to sit in solitude, only the evening had other plans for him. He smiled warmly albeit with a crooked eyebrow as his sparring partner took the stool opposite him.

‘You don’t mind if I…? Ricochet asked on seeing the look Finn gave him.

‘No, not at all,’ Finn replied. Truthfully he didn’t. Ricochet had been an excellent companion all afternoon, warm, energetic and polite. Finn had instantly felt at ease with the man and the pair had laughed heartily between their bouts.

‘You impressed me today,’ Ricochet said, catching Finn off-guard. ‘Never met anyone who can match my speed before.’

‘Believe me, I’m not matching it,’ Finn said with a chuckle and a sad shake of the head. ‘It’s taking every ounce of energy I have to keep up with you.’

‘But you’re keeping up,’ Ricochet pointed out. ‘It’s just your fitness letting you down but a few more sessions together and that will improve. You run?’

‘Used to,’ Finn said, scratching the back of his head. ‘Went for one this morning…’ he trailed off, not wanting his mind to wander back to that scene on the hillside.

As if the Gods had read his very thoughts and decided to mock him, the man of his dismay entered at that very moment. Finn’s eyes spotted Seth as soon as he walked in through the door, his nose shining a deep red from bruising. Finn’s heart leapt into his throat, a sweat permeating the skin on his forehead. What was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly struck like this whenever he spotted the junior officer nearby? Why now?

‘He’s a good man.’ Ricochet’s voice broke Finn from his trance. He turned a quizzical look towards his sparring partner. ‘Junior Officer Rollins,’ he explained. ‘I’ve been under his command since he arrived here. He’s a fine officer, certainly the best we have here.’

‘How so?’ Finn asked, finding himself strangely keen to hear more about the New-Worlder with the gold streak in his hair and impossibly dark eyes.

‘McIntyre would easily send every single one of his men to the slaughter in the pursuit of glory,’ Ricochet went on, taking a bite out of his food while he spoke. ‘Lashley couldn’t care less. He’s much happier to sit in his luxurious tent while his men do all the dangerous work then his mouthpiece, Lio, would spin the tale so that Lashley came out the triumphant hero.

‘Seth on the other hand, actually cares about his men. He leads from the front of his line, always wearing his officer’s helm so the enemy will target him rather than those in his care. Once the battle is over, he gathers his men to address us, to thank us and praise us for our courage. When the other officers scurry to their superiors, seeking plaudits and medals, Seth prefers to spend time with his troop. He visits the wounded first, taking time to speak to every soldier or simply sit at their beside to comfort them. For those who will not survive their wounds, he holds their hand and prays with them so that they may go peacefully into the next life.’

Finn listened with a heart growing heavier by the second, the guilt of his earlier actions washing over him like a ferocious wave during a squall.

‘Once he has attended to the wounded he will then visit the rest of his men, break bread with us, drink with us, sing loudly of victory and glory or mourn fallen brothers. He will stay with us through the night, if need be. I’ve seen him on the brink of exhaustion by the end, sometimes even barely able to stand. Apollo will usually seek him out and force him to return to his tent to rest.’

Finn bowed his head, only his blue eyes flashing up to spy Seth sitting at the officer’s table at the far end of the room. He seemed more morose than usual and it hurt Finn to know that he was the cause of the younger man’s melancholy. All of a sudden, Seth’s gaze rose and found Finn’s, the pair locked onto one another. Finn felt a stab of panic through his heart and turned away sharply.

‘You know he was once a member of the King’s Shield?’ Ricochet enquired, leaning back for a post-meal stretch.

‘Shield?’

‘His personal guard,’ Ricochet groaned as his spine gave a satisfying crack. ‘It was made up of Rollins and two others. One was a tribesman from the far reaches of the empire called Roman Reigns. They say he was the son of a tribal leader, who had surrendered to the Cross and given his son as tribute. The other they say was a feral child found wandering the streets of some town in the north-eastern territories of the New World, abandoned as a babe and raised by a pack of wild dogs. They called him Dean Ambrose. The three of them together were a formidable force, as close as brothers once.’

‘What happened?’ Finn asked, leaning in closer. This was all new information to him and he wanted more like a drunk wanted strong ale.

‘Nobody knows exactly although it’s widely accepted that Rollins broke the Shield up.’ Finn was genuinely surprised at those words, wondering what lead the younger man to break up the closest thing he’d ever had to family. He asked the question on his mind. ‘Some have their theories. You see Rollins was a close personal favourite of King Helmsley. His wife, Queen Stephanie had gifted him with three daughters so many believe he viewed Rollins as the son he’d never had. The news from Londinium was that Rollins was a proud, spoilt brat of a youth who valued himself above all others. You can imagine my surprise when he arrived here in Hibernia and he was nothing of the sort. He was quiet, introverted… he seemed weary of the world.’

‘When did he arrive here in Hibernia?’ Finn asked, his mind becoming jumbled with all of this new information.

‘Almost two years ago. Rumour was it had grown dangerous for him in Londinium.’

‘His enemies accused him of being a man-lover,’ Finn said and Ricochet froze, opening his eyes with a startle.

‘That’s right,’ he said, leaning forward to cross his arms over the table, his voice becoming low so that few could listen in. ‘How do you know that?’

‘He spoke of it once,’ Finn explained.

‘Does that disgust you?’ Richochet asked and Finn heard the tone in his voice, telling Finn that this was a test from the younger man.

‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘it is only the Cross who rebukes at the thought of same sex lovers.’

‘And you don’t?’

‘Us Isle-born believe that love is love, not matter the gender, so long as both parties are consenting adults.’

‘Fascinating,’ Ricochet smiled, as if hearing this tidbit of local knowledge for the first time. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I would have thought discussing blasphemies with a heathen would be a dangerous game for a man of the Cross?’ Finn fixed Ricochet with a piercing look. The younger man chuckled warmly.

‘I am no man of the Cross,’ he grinned, taking a swig from his cup.

‘That symbol on your chest says otherwise,’ Finn bit back, pointing his finger at the ‘X’ carved on the soldier’s breastplate.

‘And you wear the colour of a recruit, does that make you a man of the Cross?’ Ricochet parried, lowering his cup with a sharp thud on the tabletop. Finn had no comeback so made do with narrowing his eyes with threat. ‘I am of the Red Army and I am a New Worlder,’ the younger man went on, ‘as for my religious beliefs, they don’t follow those of the Cross.’

‘Then why fight for them?’ Finn asked, the suspicion in his tone easing into curiousity.

‘I was a mercenary before I joined,’ Ricochet explained, frowning as he examined the bottom of his cup and found it empty. He set it down and gave Finn his full attention. ‘Would offer my services to anyone so long as they had the coin. Fought in many battles, in many wars, sometimes even for both sides, if one should outbid the other. When a man of no allegiance can make a living from such dangerous games, then he starts to gain a reputation. Said reputation reached the ear of a certain gentleman by the name of Lord William Regal.’

He had Finn’s full attention now and the Hibernian leant closer, eager to hear more. ‘How did you come to meet Lord Regal,’ he enquired.

Ricochet lowered his eyes and gave a nervous chuckle, displaying each of his perfect, white teeth. ‘I was hired to assassinate him.’

Finn’s jaw just about hit the table with shock all while the younger man laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his head. ‘Fortunately for the old man, my skill were better suited to the battlefield than the shadowy world of cloak and dagger. He heard me coming a mile away but instead of fighting me off, he spoke to me in that same, calm manner he always does. I’ve never seen anything ruffle that guy’s feathers.

‘He asked what my employers were paying me for the job and offered something better. Not just a steady wage – more coin than I’d ever seen before in my life – but that he could improve my skills to levels I’d never thought possible. I must admit, he was a smart one to appeal to my pride as well as my purse. I would have ratted out my rebel employers there and then in return for his offer but he never asked of it. Countless men have tried to take out Regal in his lifetime – I think the old rascal has grown bored of it all.’

Finn smiled at the conclusion of Ricochet’s tale. ‘So you joined the Red Army to train under Regal?’

‘Amongst other things,’ the soldier confirmed with a nod of his head. ‘Never thought I would have found a kinship with these men though and that’s the main reason I stay. If you got to know them better, you’ll find they’re quite a rag-tag bunch of guys. True, most are New-Worlders but there are also those from the Hispanium territories in the south, some from the Franks territory further north, even other isle-born like yourself. Some are from even further away, the most distant corners of the globe. All from different walks of life and all here for their own reasons.’

‘Are there other Hibernians?’ Finn asked, tentatively.

‘Not yet, you’re the first,’ he said with a sad shake of the head. ‘Come on, let me introduce you to some of the guys.’

The rest of the evening was spent in the company of Ricochet’s fellow soldiers and it only helped to ease Finn’s earliest fears. After drinking ale with them and partaking in tales of revelry, Finn finally began to feel like an equal among the company, rather than an outsider pretending to be a soldier.

Later that night, feeling it was getting late and wanting to grab some hours of sleep before his training the next day, Finn excused himself to retire for the night. As he crossed the dark courtyard towards the tower where the officer’s chambers were located, he heard grunting coming from behind the blacksmith’s shed and peeked around to find Seth practicing his sword-play on a beam. Judging by the punishment the wooden dummy was enduring, Seth was letting out a lot of pent up frustration.

Finn turned away and swallowed noisily, trying to figure out what exactly had changed inside of him that day. Truthfully, he had figured out Seth’s sexual orientation from the very beginning, from the moment on the farm where he had stumbled over his words like an awkward adolescent asking his sweetheart for a dance. He also knew that Seth has desires for him, some of a sexual nature, yet that had never bothered him in the slightest. He had always felt comfortable around the younger man. Safe. Secure.

So why was he suddenly so afraid of him?

Perhaps, Finn realised, his problem didn’t lie with Seth but within himself. Something had changed inside of him, something he was afraid to admit. If he was to move on from his trauma, he would have to face his own feelings, straighten out the web of emotions that Corbin had so expertly tangled and find his true self again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian makes some new friends

Seth stomped through the barracks, searching every bunk and finding each one empty. He sighed irritably through his nose and scratched an itch on the back of his head, wracking his brain on where to try next. So far, he had checked the messhall, the armoury, the barracks, the washroom, even the kitchens and rookery but so far, there had not been a single sign of his aid, Apollo.

And Seth would be more willing to forgive this, if this hadn’t become something of a pattern the past few days. Recently, his aid was often missing, when usually he was a stable sight at Seth’s side, always on hand should he be needed. True, there wasn’t much to do at that point in time, with the Field Commander and the other officers away in Londinium, and with no sign of unrest at that moment, but still…

Seth walked out into the courtyard. It was a fine morning with the sun shining brightly on a world that had experienced rain overnight. The air smelled fresh and sweet and the breeze was gentle as it rustled past, teasing Seth’s long hair. He allowed himself a moment to stand and enjoy the many pleasant sensations of the summer’s day when his ears pricked at the sound of voices coming from the training ground. He had a hunch and decided to go see if it checked out.

Rounding the blacksmiths and stables, he spied a group of soldiers gathered on the combat field and was stunned to find the group was there to watch Finn train. Seth eyed up each of the men, recognising them all immediately. He was not surprised to find his aid Apollo amongst the onlookers – his hunch from earlier proving spot on. Beside him was the young New-Worlder, Ricochet, standing on the side lines, commenting on the action to Adrian Neville, an Anglian and one of the Red Army’s newest recruits. Next to him was the distinctive bright orange hair belonging to a New-Frank called Sami Zayn. His fellow Frank, Kevin Owens, was on the field, facing down Finn with a spear in his hand. The pair was so focused on their sparring session that Finn didn’t even notice Seth approach. The junior officer hoped to keep it that way, however Apollo spotted his superior and scuppered the junior officer’s plans.

‘Attention!’ Apollo yelled out and every man turned smartly, spotted the higher-ranking soldier and froze in respectful salute. Every man that is, except Finn, unaccustomed to such protocols, especially to Seth, who he had treated no differently that a friend in all the time he’d known him, at least until the past few days. Instead he stood and looked on. Seth dared not even glance the way of the medusa eyes; on a day like today when the sun was full and the sky so blue, to lock up with those orbs could prove fatal.

‘At ease, gentlemen,’ Seth waved the salutes away and all men took up a more comfortable but no less formal stance. ‘Here you are.’ Seth said to Apollo with a mock look of reproach on his face. ‘I’ve been searching everywhere for you.’

‘Apologies, sir,’ Apollo bowed his head with a grimace. ‘I was helping our newest recruit to train.’

‘So I see,’ Seth cast a brief eye over the rest of the party, keeping his gaze safely away from Finn. ‘I hate to tear you away but I have need of you.’

‘Yes, sir, of course, sir.’ Apollo handed his training sword and shield to Ricochet and strode over to Seth’s side. Before turning away, the junior officer gave a small smile to the rest of his men and told them to carry on ‘as you were’. He didn’t plan on turning back again but when he heard Finn cry out in pain, he spun around before he could stop himself, and saw the Hibernian rub his temple all while staring down Owens incredulously.

‘Oi, that wasn’t sporting,’ Finn scolded the Frank, who had clearly struck him while he wasn’t paying attention. ‘ I had my back to you.’

‘The enemy doesn’t play fair,’ Owens replied with no remorse. Seth snorted a playful laugh through his nose. A useful lesson, he mused to himself.

Seth and Apollo walked on back to the main tower, the latter enquiring what task his superior had in store. ‘Oh,’ Seth shook his head, as if breaking out of a daze, ‘I felt that, since our Higher-Ups have been away a week, the boys have been growing idle. I thought we might organise some drills for them.’

‘An excellent idea,’ Apollo grinned, always an enthusiastic advocate of solid training and exercise, as was displayed by his impressive physique. ‘Should I…’ he motioned with his thumb to the group they had left behind them, ‘gather the rest of the troops?’

Seth paused in his steps and glanced briefly back towards the training ground. ‘No, no,’ he finally said, shaking his head for emphasis. ‘Let them be. At least they are doing something besides lounging around, sipping ale and ogling the kitchen-maids.’ Apollo nodded his head curtly to signal his understanding and the pair walked on, Apollo counting mischievously in his head. He reached only three when Seth finally asked ‘how is he doing?’

Apollo didn’t need to be told who ‘he’ was and replied, with a soft, knowing smile on his lips. ‘He is improving every day. Working alongside young Ricochet was a revelation of Lord Regal’s – his speed and agility has come on in leaps and bounds. Even you would struggle to catch him these days.’

Seth’s face softened, beaming with pride. It was far too short-lived, however. ‘And I see he has found others to practice his sparring with.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, the long-haired man bit down on his lip and Apollo knew he was mentally scolding himself for sounding so envious.

‘Some of the boys have taken him under their wing,’ Apollo confirmed carefully, stealing a glance over to his superior. Nothing escaped his notice, not the way the junior officer’s shoulders hunched with tension, not the bowing of his head or the heavy sigh that issued out slowly through his nose. Taking a pace in closer to the man one year his senior, Apollo hushed out in a voice slightly above a whisper. ‘He misses you, you know.’

Finally, Seth stopped and looked his way, his dark eyes wide with sorrow and stark hope. ‘He does?’

Apollo nodded and placed a comforting hand on his superior’s shoulder. ‘You really should speak to him.’

He watched as Seth’s eyes darted to and fro, that brilliant mind hard at work until at last the older man shook his head with determination. ‘No,’ he said, ‘best not. When Finn’s ready… _if_ Finn’s ready to talk, he will come find me.’

The mess-hall was almost empty at noon-time, the rest of the castle’s troops still out performing drills with Seth and Apollo, when Finn sat with his fledgling friends to break their fast. He chose a chair on the corner of the table, still feeling a little shy amongst the group, as if he were not a fully member yet. Ricochet patted him on the back, silently asking if the older man was alright before taking a seat beside him. Finn smiled in reply before turning his attention to the loud conversation the rest of the party were indulged in. Combat was the topic of the day, the benefits and downfalls of each weapon, which ones they found worked best in a close combat setting and different tactics they liked to employ, each man preferring a style vastly different to the next, leading to a fiery debate among them.

Despite the ear-splitting volume, Finn listened in like a schoolboy to their teacher when they imparted knowledge on his favourite subject. It was what he enjoyed most about this particular group’s company. Each man was incredibly skilled and accomplished yet in completely different ways and it made sparring with each of them very interesting for Finn. He would learn something new each time and use this newly acquired knowledge to improve his own skills.

He particularly liked sparring with Kevin Owens who was by far the largest and heaviest of the group. He relied less on speed attacks, preferring power moves instead, forcing Finn to deflect or dodge these devastating blows. One hit could prove the difference between a hard-fought win or an easy loss. Owens also played dirty, often resorting to cheap shots like throwing dirt in Finn’s eyes to blind him or attacking while the Hibernian was distracted. Each time, he would shrug and say the enemy did not play fair either, and even though Finn was swiftly learning never to underestimate an opponent, he somehow still fell victim to Owen’s plentiful bag of nasty tricks.

A hush came over the group as a handful of kitchen maids came over to serve their meal. Finn was disappointed at the sudden halt of the conversation but used the opportunity of the lull in noise to thank the young woman who placed his bowl of broth in front of him. He impishly eyed the way her pale cheek flushed in response, clearly his time in captivity had done nothing to dampen his charms on the opposite sex.

As it turned out, Finn wasn’t the only one who had noticed the maids’ entrance. Turning to the rest of the group, he found them all whispering furiously to the Anglian they called Neville, whose face had deepened to the colour of ripe beetroot. His head was lowered, almost threatening to delve nose-first into his boiling broth, his shoulders hunched high in a vain attempt to hide himself completely from the look of the women at the far end of the room. A couple of rapid eye-movements told Finn that it was the petite young thing with hair as fair as moonlight that had stolen the younger man’s heart.

But Neville had no courage in him to act upon his passion and it was clear to Finn that, good intentioned though they may be, his friends’ constant hassling was not bringing him any closer to escaping his shell. Finn decided not to engage in the teasing, instead he focused on his broth, feigning disinterest but his ear catching every snippet of hushed conversation between the conspirators.

‘Come on, Nev,’ the New-Frank with orange hair, Sami Zayn, tried to encourage his comrade, ‘what do you have to lose?’

‘She could say no,’ Owens cut in, unhelpfully. Zayn, however, ignored his fellow countryman and continued to try and rouse Neville from his nerves.

‘You’ve been swooning over her for, what, two months? Three? And you haven’t even spoken to her yet. For all you know, she could have eyes for you too.’

‘What, with those ears?’

Finn nearly snorted out a laugh. For being two of the closest friends in the camp (some even said, the entire Red Army) Zayn and Owens were as different from each other as chalk and cheese. In the short time he’d known the pair, he’d considered Zayn, to be one of the kindest and generous souls he’d ever met, he never had a bad word to say about anybody and always tried to do right by his friends. A cheerful and energetic man, he rarely stayed still and was often up to some task or other to occupy his time.

In stark contrast, both in looks and personality, was Owens. While Zayn was spry and lean with bright orange hair and beard, Owens was heavier set with dark colouring. He wore a perma-frown on his face and always appeared bored. He rubbed a lot of people up the wrong with his bluntness and bone-dry sense of humour, giving him the impression to others that he had a bad attitude but Finn could read between the lines. Owens was honest to a fault, even if he was saying something the recipient really didn’t want to hear and would pull no punches. Finn really admired that in the man.

However, that honesty was undoing Zayn’s good work and the red-head was growing impatient with his closest friend. ‘Will you knock it off?’ he scolded Owens who shrugged with a weary sigh, muttering something about ‘only trying to help.’ Turning back to Neville, whose visage had coloured even deeper to the shade of rich, red wine, Zayn tried one last time to push his friend. ‘Look, she’s coming over with the ale. Just speak to her. Talk about the weather, anything.’

‘Hush, here she comes,’ Ricochet warned the group and another awkward silence fell upon the table. The silver-haired maid approached and asked pleasantly if any of the soldiers required more ale for their cups. All eyes fell on Neville (his face turning burgundy now) and waited patiently. The silence remained and the maid, clearly not pleased at being flat-out ignored by the table, made to turn with a huff when one voice broke the stillness.

‘I will take some of your ale, if you please, miss.’

Every face turned towards Finn, who had spoken out. He ignored the stunned expressions of his cohorts and smiled warmly at the young woman who returned the gesture and came to his side, urn in hand to fill his waiting cup.

‘Of course,’ the young maid said, her accent betraying she was Hibernian, same as Finn. Dubhlinn-born, judging from her lilt. It reminded him of Becky. ‘It’s nice to have someone wit’ manners here at last. You’re a new recruit?’

‘In training,’ Finn corrected her. ‘Until I pass my exam.’

‘And when will that be?’ she asked, politely, holding her urn to her breast as she finished filling his cup.

‘In a week and a half,’ he replied, flashing his blue eyes at her. There was a blush appearing at her cheeks and Finn knew his plan was working.

‘Oh well,’ she muttered, his voice failing her a little. ‘I wish you every good fortune.’

‘Thank you, very kind of you,’ Finn bowed his head, respectfully. ‘If I may, before you leave, Miss… uh…’

‘Caoimhe,’ she told him.

‘Miss Caoimhe,’ he repeated. ‘A fitting name, don’t you agree, Neville?’ He looked across to Neville, who raised his head, his shoulders slackening as all the colour drained from his face with horror. ‘Ah, my friend is Anglian,’ Finn explained to the maid who’s eyes were now drawn to the younger man, ‘so forgive him for not understanding. You see, Neville…’ 

‘Huh?’ the Anglian spluttered, looking like he was desperate to run away from the situation but was hopelessly trapped. 

‘.. the name Caoimhe means gentle and beautiful. Don’t you find that apt for this lovely, young lady?’ Neville stared back helpless, his mouth flopping open and closed like a fish plucked from the water. Finn would have rolled his eyes if he could but that would break the façade. ‘I must apologise for my friend, Neville, he is normally more articulate than this, you see. I think it’s just the effect you have on him.’ 

‘Who, me?’ Caoimhe’s eyes widened with surprise as her dainty fingers flew to her lips with mild embarrassment. 

‘I’m afraid so,’ Finn nodded, faux sadness dancing across his boyish features. ‘He told me that being in your presence is like being blinded by the light of Brigid herself. It renders him speechless, as if under a spell. Such if the power of your beauty.’ 

‘He… he said that?’ Caoimhe asked, and now she only had eyes for the dark haired young Anglian staring helplessly back at her. 

‘Yes, that is why he is too afraid to ask you for some more ale,’ Finn went on. 

‘Oh, I have plenty,’ she beamed at Neville, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, ‘he need never go parched.’ 

She slipped over to Neville’s side, the stupefied man sitting as pert and still as a beanpole as the young woman poured from her urn into her cup, making sure to gently rub her shoulder against his. When she finished, she turned to him and smiled shyly. 

‘Well, Neville,’ Finn captured the Anglian’s attention, ‘thank the young lady.’ 

‘Th-th-thhhhhaaaaa,’ was the best he could muster and with another sweet giggle, she waggled her fingers in a cute wave good-bye and sauntered her way back to the kitchens. 

As soon as the young lady left, Finn felt every face turn his way, mouths gaping open and eyebrows furrowed in amazement at the ease of his wooing. Finn, however, took no heed, instead finishing off the contents of his cup before making to stand. 

‘I’m all finished,’ he declared. ‘I’m heading out to practice some more. I’ll see you all later, lads.' 

Finn enjoyed having a few minutes to himself as he ran drills on the training ground, working his body and spear together into different stances to help him master the feel of the weapon in his hand. Day-by-day, his strength was growing, his speed quickening and his reflexes tightening. Yet the fear remained, ever present in the back of his mind like a wolf hiding amongst the trees. 

‘Have you ever tried doing this with your eyes closed?’ 

Finn paused as Lord Regal approached and had to stop himself from bowing to the older man. He had done it before in the past and the nobleman had scolded him ruthlessly for it. ‘I don’t need all this pomp and ceremony nonsense. The only respect I value is hard work and a keen ear. You show me plenty of both, young Finn,’ he’d said and Finn had never forgotten it. 

Turning around, he gestured to his mentor with a raised eyebrow. ‘With my eyes closed? No I haven’t.’ 

‘Try it,’ Regal waved a palm to encourage the Hibernian. ‘Right now.’ 

Finn nodded and stood up straight, closing both eyes tightly. The mid-day sun shone red through his closed lids and his body felt off-balanced so he parted his legs slightly to steady himself. 

‘Ahhh, good man,’ he heard Regal compliment off to his left. ‘You are already adjusting your style to counteract your debility. Now, start the drill, see what else you find different.’ 

Finn began, changing from pose to the next, wielding his spear in hand. Much like when his eyes were opened, he didn’t need to think much about how he performed the drills and instead allowed his body to work automatically, making small changes to his stance as and when he needed. With a final spin and a thrust, he finished the first drill when he heard Regal order him to halt and he froze in position. 

‘What can you hear, Finn?’ Regal asked. 

‘A bell,’ Finn replied, hearing the small tinkling of the silver bell from nearby. 

‘Describe it for me.’ 

‘It… sounds small, sweet, I’m not sure how else to describe…. it’s moving!’ 

‘Well done,’ Finn could hear the smile in Regal’s tone. ‘Now, listen carefully, try and pick out in your mind where exactly the bell is then strike it for me.' 

Finn nodded his head. Keeping his eyes screwed shut, he stood up straight, spear held loosely at his side and concentrated on the sound of the tiny bell. In his mind he imagined it moving in a slow, lazy arc, gradually sweeping out to his right. 

He lashed out with the spear. The bell stopped in his motion. 

‘Excellent strike,’ Regal complimented. ‘You nearly hit it. Try again.’ 

Finn played the strange game with Regal several times, each time, finding the source of the bell’s ringing and hitting it more accurately every time until finally his mentor told him to open his eyes. It took several long blinks for Finn to acclimatize to the bright summer’s day. 

‘You see now?’ Regal asked but answered his question before Finn could get a word out. ‘Blindness is a weakness but if used in the right way, can work to your advantage. The secret is to remain calm and heighten your other senses. Remember that the next time Owens throws dust in your eyes.’ 

Finn let out a small laugh as the point of the lesson revealed itself. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he bowed his head towards Regal respectfully. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ 

As if one cue, the New-Frank in question, along with his cohorts noisily approached the training ground, full from their meal and ready for more action. Neville, especially, held himself as if he were ten feet tall, a supremely smug grin on his face. Seeing Finn, he called out to the Hibernian and marched over, waving a piece of parchment in his hand. 

‘Areet bonny lad,’ he cheered, clasping a friendly hand on Finn’s shoulder. ‘Ye’ll no believe what just happened, like?’ Like most others in the camp, Finn had a hard time following the Anglian’s dialect. It was a far cry from the well defined tones of Regal, sounding almost Caledonian at times, telling Finn the younger man hailed from the north of Anglia, close to where the borders of the two nations met. ‘That lassie just went and slipped me this paper before we left the table.’ 

He handed the parchment to Finn who opened it to find a sweet little love note. It was even scented with heather-stalks, Finn could smell it like an alluring perfume. ‘She wants to meet you tonight by the pantry,’ Finn smiled as he read the young maiden’s curved writing. 

‘And it’s all thanks to you,’ Neville sang with glee, rushing forward to scoop Finn up in an overexcited hug. ‘Ye’re canny as oot, you bastard.’ 

‘Three months we’ve tried to get set that pair up,’ Ricochet sighed, shaking his head dejectedly from side-to-side. ‘Three months! Then you just swoop in and do the job in five minutes, just like that.’ He punctuated the last word of his sentence with a click of his fingers. ‘Some men just have all the luck, eh Kev?’ 

‘I’d have got the job done as easy if I had big blue eyes,’ Owens shrugged nonchalantly, though his smile told a different story. 

‘Enough fun and games, gentlemen,’ Regal rapped his hands together, bringing all five men to attention. ‘Time is wearing on.’ 

Regal worked the group hard that day, especially Finn, who by the end of their training session could barely lift his arms from exertion. He must be a masochist, he chuckled to himself, because he loved the burn in his muscles at the end of the day, loved the feel of sweat trickling off his skin and the weakness in his legs. Despite all the pain and exhaustion, it left him feeling good, like he had accomplished something. 

Before heading to the washroom, Finn and his new friends were sitting lazily around the training ground to catch their breaths. With their superior gone (Regal having excused himself for the day), the five young men chatted amicably amongst themselves. Finn leant back against the cool stones of the eastern wall, eyes closed, bathing in the evening sunlight as he tried to steady his lungs to normal when he heard someone call his name. 

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Finn,’ Neville said and the Hibernian turned to look at the younger man. ‘What’s the meaning behind that collar-thing around your neck? Is it some Hibernian culture thing I don’t know abo-OWW!’ He pouted his lip out angrily at Ricochet and rubbed the back of his head where the New-Worlder had suddenly slapped him. ‘What was that for?’ 

‘Don’t be nosy,’ Ricochet warned him. 

‘I’m not, I only want to know what the collar stands for- GAH! STOP THAT!’ 

Finn leant forward, his eyes narrowing at the Anglian. ‘You mean, you don’t know about… you don’t know why I’m here?’ 

Neville squirmed under Finn’s gaze, understanding now that he had stuck his foot in it. ‘Well, I mean, I know you’re a new recruit, like, but not much else.’ 

‘And you?’ Finn looked at Zayn and Owens who both shrugged their shoulders. ‘We just reckoned you were some son of a Hibernian noble they were fast-tracking into the army or something?’ Owens said by way of explanation. 

Finn actually let out a small laugh at that. ‘Me? A son of a noble?’ he grinned with amusement. 

‘It’s something about the way you move,’ Zayn scratched his fingers through his beard as he tried to explain how they came to their strange conclusion, ‘you have this, I don’t know, way of holding yourself that all nobility seems to have. Like you’ve been trained how to walk.’ 

‘And you use such flowery language,’ Owens offered with a straight face that threatened to make Finn laugh again. 

‘Well, I hate to break it to you, lads but…’ Finn hesitated, not sure how to break the façade that his cohorts had of him. Would they treat him any differently if they knew the truth? Would they find him a vile, disgusting abomination and shun him? Just when he was starting to feel comfortable with these men too. 

‘Finn,’ Ricochet caught his attention, his voice soft and gentle. ‘You don’t have to.’ 

Finn set his jaw, grinding his teeth for several seconds more before he took the plunge. ‘I was a farm boy,’ he explained and already he could see the surprise on his companions’ faces. ‘Not a member of nobility, I’m afraid, sorry to disappoint you.’ 

‘So… how did you learn to fight?’ Zayn asked. Of all the questions they could have thrown his way, Finn was surprised this was the first. But then again, knowing this lot, probably not. They valued combat above all else and clearly saw in Finn the seasoned fighter that he was. 

‘My stepfather was in the King’s army,’ Finn answered his query. ‘Fought during the occupation. He taught me most of what I know.’ 

‘So how did you end up here? OWW! I MEAN IT, STOP DOING THAT!’ Neville yelled at Ricochet, rubbing the back of his head. 

‘It’s alright, I don’t mind telling them,’ Finn assured the New-Worlder, although he was grateful that the younger man was looking out for his welfare. ‘I am Corbin’s slave.’ 

The shock around the group was immediate. Zayn had turned pale, his eyebrows knotted together in empathetic pain. Neville had lowered his head, almost wishing Ricochet had struck him harder to get him to shut up. Even Owens’ usual stoic expression had softened slightly at the news. ‘He killed my stepfather, took me captive and dragged me away from my home. He’s the one who placed this collar around my neck.’ 

‘Hell’s teeth,’ Zayn cursed under his breath, shaking his head from side-to-side. Nobody else in the group seemed willing to say anything, all reeling from the weight of Finn’s revelation. The silence was making Finn feel uncomfortable. 

‘It was Seth who saved me,’ he said to try and lighten the mood, somewhat. ‘For now, at least. He tricked Corbin into a bet; if I can pass the exam, I will be freed and allowed to become a soldier of the Red Army. Seth’s been helping me train, so has Regal and Ricochet. And all of you.’ He offered a warm smile to the group who stared back at him, dumbly. ‘I really appreciate all the advice you’ve given me… but, most importantly, I really appreciate your warmness. You’ve been so welcoming to me these past few days that I no longer feel so alone. I feel, almost… human again.’ 

It was Ricochet who broke the stillness. Standing up, he walked over to Finn and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll always have your back.’ He turned to face the others. ‘Right, guys?’ 

Zayn stood up next, coming over to sit next to Finn and place his arm around his shoulders. ‘We will help you pass this exam, no matter what it takes. We will train with you night and day, skip meals, even, so that you’re as ready as you can be.’ 

‘Look at what you did for me!’ Neville said, jumping to his feet to join the group. He crouched down in front of Finn, holding the piece of paper between his fingers like it was a sacred idol. ‘I owe you one.’ 

A grunt brought everyone’s attention to Owens, who refused to move from where he sat. ‘No-one should have to live in chains.’ He muttered. It was his way of saying he had Finn’s back too. 

For the first time since arriving at the castle, Finn’s smile reached his cheeks. Even the fear inside of him cowered back from the warmth of his friends surrounding him. With men like these at his side, how could he possibly fail the exam? 

There was no escaping the painful truth, however. There was one obvious omission from the group and Finn felt his absence more than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, when I got to this part of the story, I had written myself into a corner - Finn and Seth were having their issues and I didn't know how to get them out of it. It took several rewrites before I had the idea of giving Finn some new friends to surround himself with and what a revelation it turned out to be. Sami Zayn, Kevin Owens and Neville are three wrestlers very dear to my heart and I loved writing their different personalities and suddenly Finn's confidence naturally began to grow and writing became easier again.  
> So thank you guys for coming into Finn's life!
> 
> Oh and btw, Caoimhe is pronounced 'kee-va'.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A New Frank reveals his gravest secret/ A Hibernian gives a New Worlder a test

Four more days!

That’s all he had left!

Finn couldn’t settle, that number playing in his mind over and over again. He balked at the food laid out before him for the evening meal and pushed his plate aside. Ignoring the twitterings of Neville flirting with the kitchen-maid, **Caoimhe** , beside him, Finn tried the exercise Becky taught him, staring into the fireplace to try and clear his mind from negative thoughts. It failed miserably, mostly because the fire had been lit for the evening and was raging in the hearth, only adding fuel to his growing anxiety.

‘I need some fresh air,’ he declared, getting to his feet.

‘Need me to come with?’ Neville asked but Finn told him he was fine and walked out the mess hall alone.

With no destination in mind, Finn let his feet take over and wandered aimlessly through the myriad of corridors and winding passageways of the old castle, his silent tread leading him this way and that while his mind visualized the exam to come. Every possible outcome manifested inside of his head, in some, he was victorious, standing tall with his arms raised, waiting for Corbin to grant him his freedom. In most, however, he would fail and Corbin would fall on him, sweep him up into his constricting arms, his cold breath freezing his cheek as his lips pressed onto his ear.

‘You’re mine, David,’ he sneered. ‘Forever.’

Finn shook his head. Now the panic was really overcoming him and he could think of no way to quell it.

_If Seth were here, he would know what to say._

That thought came out of nowhere and stunned Finn enough to pause in his steps.

It had been more than a week since his outburst on the training ground and other than fleeting glances of the man with the golden streak in his hair, he had not seen or spoken to Seth since. Yet, every single day, he had plagued Finn’s thoughts, tainting even his happiest moments with crushing sadness.

He missed him.

Missed him so much it physically hurt him.

Yet, he still couldn’t face the younger man. Not yet, not until…

An image popped into his head. He had passed the exam. His friends had lifted him onto their shoulders, cheers and booms of laughter filling the air. Finn had the largest smile on his face, which grew even more as he spotted Seth looking on. His friends dropped him off directly in front of the junior officer and Finn looked deep into those dark, doe-like eyes. He rushed forward, grabbed the startled young man and kissed him fiercely.

Finn stumbled backwards, hitting the stone wall behind him. _No_ , he scolded himself. _Don’t think of that. You can’t think of him that way. That’s what Corbin wants you to think, what he’s twisted you into believing…_

But the image was too sweet and he closed his eyes to see it all the clearer. Over and over again. Almost feeling those sweet lips on his, lazily opening up to allow him to slip his tongue inside.

‘Ah, there you are.’ Finn opened his eyes on hearing Sami’s voice. The redhead was smiling at him from the doorway and in an instant, Finn felt as if he’s been caught in the middle of a lewd act. He tugged his tunic down, hoping to hide the slight growth in his breeches but if Sami had noticed anything odd, he certainly wasn’t acknowledging it.

‘Can I borrow you for a while?’ Sami asked.

‘Ye-yes, sure,’ Finn answered, his voice wobbly, and went to follow the New-Frank. Expecting them to return to the mess hall, or head along to the barracks of training field, Finn was flummoxed to find they were heading in the complete opposite direction, winding their way down passageways only the servants used, until they reached areas that were abandoned by the castle residents and were falling into disrepair. The further they pushed on, the lonelier the tunnels became until they reached some long forgotten stairs, almost rotted away from neglect and carefully ascended the lost tower.

It was here that they finally met another living soul. Owens was waiting for them at the top, offering a grunt and a slight nod of the head by way of welcome. Sami patted his best friend on the shoulder before heading for the door behind Owens, opening it to allow Finn in first. Strangely enough, Owens did not follow them in but remained outside.

Finn looked around the small, circular room. It was an old rookery that even the birds had left behind, preferring the new, more spacious abode in the taller towers. Although clearly very old and smelling strongly of rot, the room had been lovingly cleaned. The floor had been swept and the cobwebs removed.

‘Here, please sit,’ Sami said, placing a cushion on the floor in the corner. Finn walked over and sat down, eyeing his surroundings with growing curiousity. He was about to ask what it was for when he spotted Sami crouch down beside the eaves and remove a board, revealing a small cubbyhole. From this, he pulled out several items including a candle and a long roll before returning to the centre of the room.

Placing the candle down, Sami unfurled the roll revealing a beautiful rug, intricately decorated with a thousand and one colours, each more dazzling than the last. Finn had never seen anything like it before, telling him it was from a land far from the isles. Lying it flat on the ground, Sami seemed to take great care in positioning it so that it faced a certain way before kneeling on top of it. With flint and steel, he created a spark to light the candle and rested it on a small tin sconce next to a third item, which Finn deduced to be a large, battered book.

Finn’s ears picked up the gentle murmurings of a voice and realised it was coming from Sami. He was chanting something in some unknown language, one with a melodic lilt, brilliantly exotic to the ears of the naive farm boy. Then Sami bowed forward until his forehead touched the fabric of the rug.

Finn watched on, enraptured by the display, understanding the grave solemnness of the occasion to keep as still and silent as possible, a ghost watching from the shadows. It also struck him how extremely dangerous this ritual was. If they were to be discovered, conspiring in the performance of a forbidden prayer right in the heart of the Cross’ base, all three of them would be executed on the spot. To take such a risk meant that this ceremony meant more to Sami than life itself. Finn felt overwhelmed that the New-Frank would share this secret with him, a man he had known for such a short space of time.

He sat patiently until Sami had finished and turned to face the Hibernian with a sheepish grin. ‘You’ll have some questions, I guess,’ he chuckled nervously.

‘You follow different beliefs from the Cross,’ Finn noted, rubbing some blood back into his numb legs, having not moved once during Sami’s prayer.

‘Well, yes, different in a way,’ Sami titled his head to the side. ‘I grew up in New-Francia but my parents were from a land far to the east, bringing with them their religion. We follow a text much older than that of the Cross but we have our origin in the same places. Like the Cross, we believe in one, almighty God, we have our prophets of his word and a code of ethics that we follow. Our devotion is no less than any in the clergy; we are required to pray five times a day, facing towards our Holy Land.’

‘Five times a day?’ Finn probed, his jaw dropping slack.

‘Of course, being a soldier in the Red Army and having to keep my true beliefs clandestine does mean I can’t always fulfill my duties.’ Sami let out a long sigh. ‘I can’t pray as much as I would like and I can’t follow the rules of the text’s diet but… I do what I can. This,’ he signaled around them, ‘is who I am. This is my core and to lose it would be to lose myself.’

Finn nodded solemnly. He could understand what it was like to lose your humanity. Yet, that still didn’t explain… ‘Why did you show me this?’

‘Because I wished to speak to you,’ Sami said, settling himself in for what looked to be a long talk.

‘I’m all ears,’ Finn replied, perking up his senses to take in whatever Sami wished to impart.

‘Well, actually, I wished to talk about… you.’ Sami’s had that tentative smile on his face again. ‘You’re troubled by something aren’t you. Something you can’t discuss any more than I can about my ritual here.’ Finn felt his heart stop. How could he have figured him out so easily? ‘I brought you here, in the hope that you could open up to me about your problem. And to reassure you that I won’t go ratting you out to our superiors, I gave you something to equally incriminate me with. You are and I are now bound by our secrets, never to tell a soul under the penalty of death.’

It all shuddered into place like a lock on a rusty door. Finn felt a great rush of emotions inside of him. Fear, guilt, panic… but there was something else in there, something he felt more strongly than the rest.

Relief.

‘I think I’m in love with Seth Rollins.’

The words erupted from his mouth like a geyser and the moment he said it, he felt all of his burden lift away from his shoulders. His head went light as if it was stuffed with feathers and he feared he would float up and away any second.

Sami closed his eyes for a second, a smile dancing on his lips. He allowed the words to settle into the room and for Finn to come to terms with the effect of his confession before asking, ‘and does he feel the same way about you?’

‘Yes!’ Finn replied without hesitation. Then… he hesitated. ‘At least, I think so. I always assumed so.’

‘You haven’t told him.’

Finn’s body had gone numb. He felt an itch on his neck but his arms slumped limp in his lap. ‘I’m too afraid to face him.’

‘Why? Are you ashamed to feel this way?’

‘No,’ Finn shot back furiously then reeled. It was the first time he had admitted that to himself. ‘No… I’m not. I mean, I’ve never felt this way about my own sex before but… I’m isle-born. To love a man is as natural as loving a woman. It matters not the gender, only the heart and soul of the person.’

Sami beamed back on hearing him say those words. Even Finn felt all the better for airing his inner thoughts.

‘Are you afraid he will reject you?’

Something jolted inside of Finn and he lashed out. ‘Look, you have no idea what I’ve through. I was held captive to a depraved man for almost a year, forced to act his whore each and every day for months. You have no idea the torture he put me through, the humiliation, the debasing acts. How he took ownership of my body and used it for his own sickening desires. You want me to tell you every little detail, how he would tear my clothes from me and pin me down, hissing threats into my ear of the mutilations he would inflict on me if I didn’t behave? Telling me over and over how much I enjoyed his touch, how I wanted more.’

‘You’re worried your feelings for Junior Officer Rollins are not real,’ Sami said, so matter-of-fact that it caught Finn off-guard and halted him in his tirade. ‘You fear Corbin has trained you to feel this way for Rollins the same way a man trains a wild dog to fetch game.’

Finn’s words caught in his throat. His eyes began to sting. He could do nothing but slump back against the wall, staring into the unknown abyss.

‘But more than that, you’re worried that your feelings _are_ real,’ Sami went on, his form appearing to dissolve in the air in front of Finn, becoming nothing more than a voice in his head, ‘and Rollins will not return them. Or worse, that he only sees in you what Corbin saw in you.’ Finn’s inhaled sharply, hearing his inner most fears spoken aloud to him. ‘You need to speak with him,’ Sami told him, an order, not a suggestion, despite the gentleness of his tone.

‘But what do I say?’ Finn’s voice was faltering.

‘The truth,’ Sami offered.

Seth couldn’t sleep.

Tossing and turning in his bunk, he decided to give up on a full night’s rest and allow the men around him some peace. Pulling on his tunic, breeches and boots, he stepped out into the fresh, cool night, drawing in a deep breath to shake out the cobwebs from his lungs.

There was something comforting about the night-time, when the bustling castle-grounds fell still and silent, the wind turned soft to gently caress the skin and the sky beamed cheekily with the sparkle of starlight. The moon was large and bright (it would become full in a night or two) bathing the empty courtyard in glorious, cool light. Across the way, Seth spotted the wooden beams used for practicing sword play protruding from the ground and decided that working up a sweat would be an excellent way to help lure him back to sleep.

Training sword in hand, Seth went through several drills to help him get used to the extra weight on his arms before facing the beam. Lunging forward, he struck the wooden structure and his blow bounced back on him, the shudder rocketing up his arm. He couldn’t stop the smile climbing his cheek. He always enjoyed how burly the beams were, the perfect thing to help strengthen a new recruit’s sword-arm for the rigors of warfare. That first strike always reminded him of his early days, training under Regal in the hopes of joining the King’s Shield, and even before then, further back when he was a boy in the camp…

He shook his head sadly. He did not like to think of those days, those happy, carefree days before he carelessly smashed it all to pieces.

The beam, focus on the beam.

He went back to practicing his sword-play, his experienced arm soon numbing to the whiplash and found his stride. As his body began to move and muscle memory took over, he found his mind wandering again to places he did not wish to visit, only this time, his thoughts shifted to Finn.

His exam was only a few days away and the tension was mounting. Finn was training himself to the brink of exhaustion, desperate to be as prepared as he could be. Everything rested on this one day and one test. If he succeeded, he would win back his freedom from the clutches of Corbin. And if he failed…

He won’t fail. Even though Seth had kept his promise and stepped back from Finn’s training, he had watched the Hibernian’s progress from a safe distance and every day he had improved in leaps and bounds. Regal was a master at his craft - a man in his lofty position would have to be. Unlike most trainers, he observed his pupils, easily spotted with a trained eye their assets and their flaws then knew exactly what each individual needed to elevate the former and stomp out the latter. Having Finn work opposite Richochet was a stroke of genius. It forced Finn to work on his speed and after spying in on the previous day’s sparring session, Seth had to admit that Apollo was right; he would find it difficult to keep up with Finn now.

Wielding spear in hand as deftly as an extension of his own arm, Finn danced around Ricochet with all the carefree confidence of a season veteran, blocking all attacks from the young soldier. He rarely went on the offense; a move that Seth thought odd at first until he saw the smile on Regal’s face and understood this was their tactic. Finn had the ability to evade his opponent’s attacks indefinitely, moving with all of the twitching speed of a tiny bird, his silent feet never giving his position away to his tiring sparring partner. Finally, when even Ricochet, sweating profusely, found himself losing a step, Finn lunged in, his spear never missing and landing such devastation damage that his opponent, if not downed straight away, would only slow even more, allowing Finn to stride effortlessly into victory.

Seth had always known that Finn was special, had always sensed something _else_ in the young Hibernian, some unseen magic that he could still not find in the textbooks (at least the few he had forced himself to peruse, him being no scholar by any stretch of the imagination) but seeing the incredible progress that the young man had made in only two short weeks had been a revelation. He was a natural fighter and when he passed the exam (of that Seth had no doubt), he would make an excellent soldier, one that would be remembered through the ages.

Seth’s only regret was that he had played such a small part in his triumph. He had tried not to feel jealous of Ricochet and the other friends Finn had made but seeing the group together every day, not just at training but at meal times and heading off on morning and evening runs, had been akin to a sword tearing through his heart. He knew there was nothing romantic going on (Finn wasn’t that way inclined) and, in truth, he was thrilled that Finn had made friends among the camp, but how he wished it had been him among the troupe.

‘Now, what did that block of wood ever do you to?’

The voice sounding to his rear jolted the shock through Seth’s entire body. The accent turned his sweat to ice. 

Lowering his training sword, he turned to find the very subject of his thoughts standing a few feet away, the moonlight beaming from his eyes and that haunting small smile on his lips. Seth felt his throat go dry, his mind wiped blank and he stood dumb, rooted in place.

Finn, thankfully broke the silence again. ‘Couldn’t sleep, huh?’ He stepped closer, moving to sit on a step. Seth’s tongue had suddenly grown twice the size, a slab of useless meat blocking his mouth. He made do with nodding his head as a reply. ‘Me neither,’ Finn cradled his fingers together, his gaze lowered to the ground. Those perfect, pink lips pursed tightly, unseen teeth nibbling the inside of his cheek. His hands were clawing at one another, fingers digging into the other far too deeply. The fear dripped off of the Hibernian like black, glistening oil.

Seth wanted to rush to him, to throw an arm around his shoulders and comfort him but he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure how to react. He had been in exile for over a week, an exile that the man before him had inflicted upon him. After running away from him like he was the devil himself, he had shunned Seth completely and when their eyes happened to meet across a crowded room, he would sharply turn his head as if panic-stricken. Why now? Why was he here, speaking as if nothing had happened?

Just when he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, Finn looked up and those mesmerisingly beautiful eyes bore into Seth’s, freezing the younger man in place like some form of black magic. No amount of training, no experience in warfare could prepare him to combat those two orbs of immense power. And now, when they shone with all the intensity of tears held forcefully back, they melted every single resolve within Seth.

‘Seth, I’m so, so sorry.’

The training sword fell from Seth’s limp hand.

‘Finn…’ His lips finally found some friction to form words, his limbs began to move, drawing him towards the older man and before he knew it, he was sitting alongside him on the step, his hand clasped around the back of Finn’s neck, pulling the Hibernian closer until their foreheads touched. To his surprise, Finn didn’t flinch away, in fact he leaned into Seth, pressing the side of his body into the junior officer’s. He was cold to the touch, telling Seth that he had been wandering outside for some time, and he hoped his own body, hot and sticky from exercise, would help to warm him up.

They sat this way as the night passed by around them, neither daring to speak for fear of breaking the spell, both men dangerously close to one another yet refusing to separate. Seth found himself wondering if he had fallen asleep and this was all some pretty dream, only for him to wake up and be thrown back into bitter reality, but hearing the sweet sounds of Finn’s breathing, feeling the soft bristles of his short hair caress his fingertips, sensing the heat slowly start to radiate through his body, reminded Seth that this was no dream. He savoured every moment as if it were the sweetest nectar from the Garden of Eden itself.

It pained him beyond belief when Finn pulled himself away. He did not go far though, his eyes refusing to release Seth from their spell. ‘I need to explain,’ he said and Seth replied with another silent nod. ‘Not here though. Can we talk in your chambers?’

Finn’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest. What was he doing? Was it the right thing? What if this all backfired and made everything even worse?

But then, how could it get any worse? After the last week of feeling miserable with guilt, wracked by remorse, enough to drive him from sleep most nights. No, he had to do this - it was the only way.

They climbed the stairs to Seth’s chambers that Finn had commandeered for the past two weeks, Finn opening the door and silently beckoning Seth to enter. The junior officer hesitated but Finn tried his best to smile, his efforts yielding a weak result but they were enough to entice Seth inside. Finn soon followed and clumsily closed the door behind him, feeling the walls caging him in. He swallowed noisily.

Seth lit a candle to bring light to the chamber before standing back against the wall, looming awkwardly, as if awaiting an order. Finn obliged. ‘Please, sit,’ he said, gesturing to the bed. Seth gave another nod and perched himself on the bunk, resting his hands on his knees and nervously rubbing them back and forth.

‘I… really need to explain…’ Finn began but the moment Seth looked up, those doe eyes staring at him expectantly, as if he were a hunter poised with a bow and arrow, Finn found all of his resolve leave him. He turned away, losing his voice for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Why was this suddenly so hard? Before now, he had been so comfortable around Seth that words came easily (admittedly, the same could not be said for Seth but he had always found that a charming trait of the younger man), but now he felt as if he were in front of a judge, charged with some terrible crime and one wrong word would send him straight to the gallows.

His eye caught something sparkling. Finn looked up and found a single, bright star beaming at him though the window of the chamber.

Not just any star.

Polaris.

The tiniest of smiles nipped the corner of his lips and he relaxed. He walked towards the window, keeping his attention on the brightest star in the night sky, feeling its strength transfer into him. Resting his arms on the windowsill, he spoke and found the words spilling easier from his lips.

‘This is all new to me,’ he confessed. He heard the bed shift behind him slightly but didn’t turn around. He kept his gaze on the Northern Star, directing his confession towards it. ‘That morning on the hillside,’ he went on, finally getting closer to the crux of the matter. ‘I felt something, something different, something new. I felt it when I looked at you. I…’

_Look at him_ , a voice encouraged him softly. A voice that was enough to bring a tear to his eye and steal his breath. _I… I can’t…_ , he replied, balling his hands up into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

‘You’ve…’ Finn wrestled for the right words, ‘you desire me, don’t you? You have from the moment we met?’

He heard a splutter behind him. He had shocked Seth with his bluntness and he felt bad for it but it had to be said. He waited, afraid to turn his head away from the window, the pounding in his chest growing stronger by the second.

‘Y-yes,’ Seth finally stammered out and it was like the crack that broke the damn holding the flood back. ‘I’m so sorry, Finn, I know I shouldn’t have, not after what Corbin did to you and I have tried to quell my feelings, I truly have and-‘

‘I know that,’ Finn reassured him, keeping his voice calm despite the erratic pounding of blood in his veins.

_Look at him._

Finn turned away from the window at last but his head was bowed, his gaze now focused on the stone floor beneath this feet. ‘Seth,’ he began, feeling his resolve leave him for a moment but the illuminated frame of the window pooling around his feet urged him on, ‘I have a test for you. I need you to do this for me. Will you swear?’

‘Give me rope and I shall do a binding vow for you,’ Seth said without hesitation and Finn’s heart reached fever pitch.

‘That will be unnecessary,’ he replied, forcing his nerves down, trying to remain calm and steadfast. He walked forward a couple of paces until he stood directly in front of Seth perched on the bunk, waiting expectantly. ‘Ok…’ Finn let out the breath his lungs were clinging onto, ‘here is the test.’

With numb fingers, he fumbled with the hem of his tunic and in a sharp, swift motion (in case he should change his mind) pulled it over his head and threw it aside, revealing his perfectly toned chest, his pale skin shining as fair as the starlight filtering in through the window. Next, his fingers gingerly rested on the ties of his breeches.

‘Finn, no!’ Seth started forward, putting his hands out to deter the Hibernian from his task. ‘You don’t need to do this!’

‘You promised me,’ Finn reprimanded him gently, refusing to move his fingers away. ‘You swore that you would do this for me.’

‘Not at the expense of your comfort,’ Seth argued. ‘I will not have you do something that pains you. You are still recovering from your ordeal.’

‘I need to do this in order _to_ recover,’ Finn kept his resolve, his voice having to show his fortitude since he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Seth. ‘You swore to me. Please, I beg you. Do this for me.’

It took a lot of consideration but finally Seth backed off, leaning back on the bunk. He nodded, the tension in his body demonstrating clearly that he was not happy about this but that he would honour Finn’s wishes. Having the reassurance of his cooperation, Finn returned to his task. The ties of his breeches were bound tightly, a habit he’d accrued since arriving at the castle, but he managed to eventually undo them and shrugged out of the breeches, followed closely by both pairs of boots. He was left now in only his subligaculum, which, after two weeks away from Corbin’s clutches, he could still not find the power to remove. He now knew, he never would. It would be left a scar on his person as much as the sword wound across his shoulder, the ever-lasting reminders of his time in captivity.

If he ever managed to regain his freedom.

But now was not the time for that. He had another important task at hand. With expert fingers, he unwound the dull white fabric from around his waist and without allowing himself even the slightest hesitation, discarded the undergarment, leaving him as naked as his first night in Corbin’s bedchamber, with only the gold plated collar around his neck.

He heard Seth hitch a breath and chanced a quick glance up at the younger man. He had turned his face away.

‘Look at me,’ Finn commanded but Seth screwed his eyes shut tight and shook his head. ‘Look at me, Seth!’

‘No!’ he grit out, refusing to even face the young Hibernian. ‘I can’t.’

‘I need you to look at me, that is your test,’ Finn insisted. Seth actually let out a croaked wail in reply and Finn felt all the worse for causing him such anguish.

‘This is not fair,’ Seth cried, his voice threatening to leave him entirely. ‘Why ask this of me?’

‘Because I have to know,’ Finn told him, trying his best not to cave in and forget the entire ordeal. He had to see this through. ‘I have to know which part of me you desire the most. In order to do that you have to look at me, and I mean properly. Examine me like you would an opponent on the battlefield. Seek out every part of me, from head to foot. Then tell me, which part you desire the most. That is your test.’

‘Finn, please-‘

‘You swore to me.’

Finn’s tone offered no other resolution, no compromise. He had made his intentions clear and there was no way for Seth to escape. He waited patiently for the younger man to compose himself and when, after a long, dreadful silence, he eventually relented with a weary ‘fine’, Finn bowed his head, closed his eyes and offered himself for inspection. For a brief moment he heard Corbin’s voice in his ear, ‘ _hands by your side’_ , and even though he had followed the order, his thoughts fiercely replied, _this is different. I am in charge now, not you. I do this for me. Not for you, not for anybody else. For me!_

‘Finn…’ Seth’s voice brought Finn back from his internal dialogue. ‘I can’t-‘

‘Please, Seth, you said you would do this.’

‘No, I am, I mean, I will, but… I can’t see the part of your body I desire most.’

‘Oh,’ Finn felt his heart dip in his chest and repressing the sigh from his lips, he turned around so that his back was to Seth. ‘Is this better?’ he asked, waiting for the answer he dreaded to come. Was he no different from Corbin and the rest of them after all? Did he only want the one thing from him and nothing else?

‘No, turn back around, please.’ Finn dared to hope, for the briefest of seconds as he did as Seth requested. Not ordered, he noted, but requested. ‘No, I still can’t see it.’

Finn, from his self-imposed blindness, heard the bunk shift and was aware of Seth’s presence coming towards him. His first instinct was to back away but he stood obediently as Seth came to stand in front of him, so close he could feel the younger man’s warm breath on his forehead.

Finn felt two soft fingers rest under his bearded chin, gently pulling his face up.

_Look at him._

This time, Finn could not fight the sweet voice in his head and he opened his eyes, his lids feeling heavy as he found two large, long-lashed pools of night inches away from him, so dark they were almost black. Tiny crinkles appeared at their edges as Seth smiled fondly at the Hibernian.

‘There they are,’ he cooed and Finn felt every flutter in his chest like a mass of doves taking to the air.

‘W-what?’ he asked, afraid that he had mistook the answer.

‘Your eyes,’ Seth confirmed, his smile only widening, his gaze never wavering from Finn’s. ‘From the very first night I saw you, serving the stew in your stepfather’s farmhouse, I have always loved your eyes.’

Finn’s lungs forgot to breath, his heart forgetting to pump blood. ‘My eyes?’ he repeated as if not fully believing it. ‘Why?’

‘Remember I said my nurse used to tell me stories when I was a boy,’ he asked and Finn nodded in reply, as lost in Seth’s features as the younger man was in his. ‘One of those stories was about the Medusa – you know it? The Medusa was a terrifying monster, cursed with hideous traits like snakes for hair and a power where one single look would turn a man to stone. Now, my nurse would always play up the part where the dashing hero would come charging in on his winged horse and use a mirrored shield to protect himself until he defeated the beast and cut her head off.’

‘I feel like I should be offended by all of this,’ Finn mused. Seth let out a burst of laughter, music to Finn’s ears.

‘It’ll make sense soon, I promise,’ Seth explained through his mirth. ‘See, the thing is, unlike most little boys, who would cheer at the hero’s triumph and go around whacking everything in sight with his sword (or stick in this case), pretending to kill the evil Medusa, I would just sit there and cry.

‘”Why, Seth? What’s the matter?”” she would ask, and I would reply “I feel sorry for Medusa”. You see, my nurse had told me how the monster came to be. She had been a young priestess, unmatched for her grace and beauty for miles around. One day, her beauty caught the eye of a sea god but she did not return his feelings. So he took her by force in the temple where she worked, and for that, she was punished by the temple’s goddess and turned into this hideous beast. I always hated the way she was treated and didn’t believe she should have been killed for being the victim of a terrible crime.’

Finn was lost for words. In an eerie twist of fate, the story that Seth had been told as a youngster that had resonated with him so much, now mirrored Finn’s own predicament. He was about to remark on this when Seth fixed him with another warm look.

‘That night on the farm, I met a medusa of my own, with eyes so radiant it was like he had stolen every shade of blue from the summer’s sky. I turned to stone under their spell and I’ve never recovered since. Only this time… I have the chance to rescue the medusa and save him from his terrible fate.’

Finn could do nothing but stare back, dumbfounded, his mind whirring every thought and feeling around in his head like a whirlpool. Seth, as if coming around to his senses from a dream, shook his head and took a step back, out of Finn’s personal space. The Hibernian found himself longing for the close proximity again.

‘Is my answer enough for your test?’ Seth asked, sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. ‘Or do you need more?’

Finn’s teeth raked his bottom lip. ‘I need one more thing,’ he said, hesitantly.

‘You can ask anything of me,’ Seth told him, his lips parted in an encouraging smile. Finn felt the knots inside of him untwist at those words.

‘I want you to kiss me,’ Finn said, feeling a strange juxtaposition of ease and dread when he asked. Seth’s face fell, the smile dissolving in a gaping maw of shock and he looked so adorable that Finn had to stifle a laugh. It was too late to take it back though; the question was out there and Finn could only await the answer.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ Seth asked.

‘I do,’ Finn nodded his confirmation. ‘Do you?’

‘Y-yes,’ Seth’s stammer made a timely return and Finn couldn’t hold back the small laugh this time. Though he tried to keep his outward calm façade, his mind was whirring with excitement. For the first time, he was standing opposite a man who didn’t take what he wanted from Finn. Instead he was genuinely concerned for Finn’s comfort and welfare and asked for his consent, even giving it in return. The whole exchange was enough to make the Hibernian euphoric.

Seth didn’t seem to want to make the first move so Finn took the initiative, stepping in to close the gap between them. Tipping his head back to look up at the taller man, he found Seth’s lips, noting how the younger man’s tongue ran over them in nervous preparation. They glistened in the starlight, looking all the more plump and juicy and Finn couldn’t stand it anymore.

He pressed his lips gently against Seth’s, hearing the sudden intake of breath from the junior officer at the physical connection. Seth’s whole body went rigid, his arms going as straight as planks at his side, as if Finn’s kiss had stupefied him. Perhaps Finn was a medusa after all.

Disappointed, Finn pulled away, still tasting the sweetness of Seth’s mouth on his tongue and craving more. He lowered his head and was about to speak when two large, warm hands cupped his cheeks and yanked him forward. This time, Seth found his confidence, blistering Finn’s lips with the force of his lust. His mouth parted and wet open kisses gorged on Finn’s chin and jawline before returning to his bruised lips and halting there, open and warm, inviting the other man to enter. With an inward chuckle, Finn obliged, parting his lips to slide his tongue into Seth’s waiting mouth.

A groan of pleasure rumbled deep in Finn’s throat as his earlier dream realised itself in the flesh, something almost feral in its nature. Seth tasted sweeter than he ever expected. Like ripened apples plucked late in the autumn months with just the tiniest hint of bitterness to add sharpness to the flavour. If he could harvest the taste of Seth, he could brew the most intoxicating cider.

It all ended far too quickly. With a loud pop, their lips parted, Seth’s hand released Finn’s jaw and the younger man stepped back, those doe eyes even larger as he looked down at Finn, awaiting a response from the Hibernian.

He was left waiting as Finn tried to recover himself. He was reeling in a state of nirvana, his soul feeling as if it had left his body and was floating aimlessly above his head like a lazy cloud. Slowly, ever so slowly, his senses returned to him and he finally managed to pull his attention back to the concerned man before him.

‘It’s real.’ Finn’s face broke into a full and radiant smile, climbing higher up his cheek with each passing second. He let out a laugh, bright and bubbling inside of him, feeling as giddy as a child in spring. ‘It’s not Corbin’s doing, it’s real.’

He looked up to catch the expression of uncertainty on Seth’s face. ‘So, did I pass your test?’ he asked, gingerly.

‘We both did,’ Finn beamed at him. ‘I now see it all more clearly. What you feel for me is more than simple lust, isn’t it?’

‘O-of course it is,’ Seth went onto the defensive, making Finn smile even broader. ‘That’s what pissed me off so much about Corbin. That day, I took you back here, it was because I saw what he did to you. He only saw you for your looks and turned a blind eye to everything else. He didn’t care for your humour, your intelligence, your grace. And your soul, Finn, your kind, good, pure soul makes everything else in the world pale in comparison. You care about people, actually care. The way you talk about your mother and stepfather, with such love in your heart. I wish some day I could feel love that way.’

‘But Seth, you do,’ Finn took a step towards him and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly between both of his own. ‘You have shown me nothing but kindness, even though each and every time it has put your own welfare at risk. You tried to come to my aid when McIntyre beat me down – yes, I saw how Corbin held you back – you nursed me back to health on the ship, you swore a binding vow to me that you would break my chains and look what’s happened, in just a few days you may just have won me back my freedom.

‘And how have I repaid you? By running from you and shunning you, like a petulant child. For that, I truly apologise, it was unfair of me to treat you that way.’ Seth tried to protest but Finn put up his hand to stop him. ‘My actions do not need justifying but they do need explanation.

‘You see, in my last few months in captivity, after Becky and Fit Finlay had been sent away, I was shunned by everyone and not just the servants, even Corbin himself would ignore me for long periods of time, weeks even, without so much as a word or touch. I was even banished from his bed and forced to sleep on the floor. The complete isolation drove me almost to madness. I am ashamed to admit that when he finally looked my way, called me ‘David’ instead of ‘slave’, kissed me… it was like a drink being offered to a man dying of thirst.’ He lowered his head, averting his gaze from Seth who tried his best to hide the shock in his expression and the pang of jealousy that shot up his spine. ‘Only afterwards, I felt all the more wretched for my weakness and when his cold shoulder resumed, it only served to break my defenses down even more.’

Finn saw the look on Seth’s face. If the man could, he would kill his superior without hesitation. He was so wound up by Finn’s tale that his teeth were loudly grinding together behind his pursed lips.

‘This is all very new to me, Seth,’ Finn went on. ‘I have never felt this way about another man before. And even though I now know these feelings are real, I’m still skeptical about them. I don’t know how deep Corbin has his claws embedded in me, how far his influence goes.’ Finn looked up, locking Seth’s into his gaze and tightening the grip on his hand. ‘I wish to be intimate with you, but I… a part of me is still scared. What if I picture his face instead of yours? What if-‘

Seth placed his free hand over Finn’s rubbing his thumb pad over the Hibernian’s calloused knuckles soothingly. ‘Then we take this at your pace,’ he told the older man. ‘Only once you feel comfortable will we give anything a try. You call the shots.’

A familiar jolt of panic shot up Finn’s spine, the exact same feeling he had back on the mountainside and he understood why he had felt that way. ‘No,’ he protested, shaking his head. ‘I have had enough of one man dictating the life of another, even if I should hold the reigns for once, it doesn’t sit right with me. We are a partnership and we decide our future together. Any decision we make, we make together. Your feelings matter as much as mine, that is the one rule we must live by.’

He looked up to find Seth smiling at him fondly. His hand went from Finn’s knuckles to his cheek, stroking the growing stubble. Finn sank into his lover’s touch, feeling himself being lulled under. The smile returned to his lips and he let out a long, happy groan.

‘We decide together,’ Seth cooed in a whisper. ‘Now, you are exhausted and you need to rest if you are to train again tomorrow. Come, to bed with you.’

Finn was on the brink of sleep but thankfully Seth helped maneuver him towards his bunk and settle him down. The moment he felt the younger man’s body heat leave him though, Finn grabbed his wrist and held tightly. ‘Stay with me tonight?’ he pleaded, looking up at the junior officer with what he hoped was his most medusa-like expression. His spell worked and Seth smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on Finn’s forehead before removing his boots (and nothing else, Finn noted with an air of disappointment though he was too tired to protest) and lay down in the bunk beside him. Finn, feeling the need for intimacy snuggled into Seth’s side, laying his head across the younger man’s chest. He purred when Seth complied and wrapped his warm arms around him, swaddling him tightly.

For the first time in almost a year, Finn went peacefully into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warm, fuzzy feelings :)*


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of soaring highs and crushing lows

If the world was a vast and dangerous plane, filled with soaring mountains and boggy fields, and those he loved were his flock of sheep, Finn had driven each and every one safely into the byre for winter. In other words, everything was as it should be, everything had fallen into place and Finn could finally feel a sense of peace and calm. Not even the pending exam worried him anymore, not with his friends at his back and Seth by his side.

He was invincible.

And he was ready to face Corbin.

It must have shown in the way he marched onto the training field the morning after he’d given Seth his test. His fellow soldiers were already there, chatting amongst themselves (or debating would be more accurate, something about the merits of a broadsword over a claymore) but they all stopped immediately and turned, giving Finn the strangest looks as he strode towards them with his head held high and blue eyes sharply focused.

Only Sami gave him a knowing smile.

‘Um, Finn…?’ Neville began then stopped, flinching instinctively as Ricochet stepped forward, expecting another smack to the back of his head. However, instead the New-Worlder took the lead in the questioning.

‘Finn, you feeling alright, man?’ he asked, tentatively. The Hibernian turned to face them, unable to keep the smile from his face.

‘I feel good, Rico,’ he beamed as warm as the morning sun. ‘Real good. And you?’

‘Uh, well, good, I mean good but,’ Ricochet looked for the right words. ‘I don’t want to sound, uh… I mean, I just couldn’t help noticing that uh, well, you… you-‘

‘You forgot your pants,’ it was Owens’ deadpan voice that finally put forward the question they’d all been desperate to ask. Finn glanced down at his attire, as if noticing it for the first time. He was decked in his usual armour; galerus, oval shield on his left arm, short gauntlets, brown rough-spun tunic, wide leather belt and greaves. The one missing item (other than his boots, as always) were his breeches, leaving his thighs bare and his subligaculum showing under the hem of his tunic. Taking in his appearance, Finn then looked up towards his friends, that same, easy smile on his face.

‘So I did,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Ok, who’s first?’

His answer did little to quell their curiousity and even though nobody brought up his strange attire again, it was clear that it was still at the forefront of their minds, even when they took up their arms and began to spar. During lulls in the action, Finn could see his fellow soldiers whispering to one another on the sidelines, and he knew they were quizzing each other on the state of Finn’s health, wondering if the stress of the looming exam had gotten to him and turned him mad.

It was wearing close to mid-day when the group was called to order by a familiar voice barking out ‘ATTENTION!’ As before, everyone stood up straight and saluted, all except Finn, as Apollo joined in the fray and he was not alone. By his side was Lord William Regal, one eyebrow raised as he inspected Finn’s outfit but, as was his nature, probed no further.

And next to him stood Junior Officer Seth Rollins, looking majestic as his basic armour glinted in the sunlight, the gold in his hair as radiant as the great entity in the sky. Finn was in complete awe of the man and that smile on his lips climbed higher up his cheek. Seth returned the gesture and the pair eyed each other up as if sharing a wonderful secret that only the two of them knew.

Seth walked casually up to Neville, Finn’s current opponent, and placed his hand out, palm up. ‘May I?’ he asked, politely and Neville handed his training sword over to his superior before stepping back to the sidelines. Testing the sword in his dominant arm by sweeping it powerfully in large, swooping arcs, Seth turned to face Finn. ‘I keep hearing how much you’ve improved. I hope you don’t mind but I would like to see this for myself?’

‘Be my guest,’ Finn said, offering an open palm.

‘Ready yourselves,’ Regal called from the side, the rest of the audience huddled in anticipation beside him. He allowed the combatants some time to warm up, Seth quickly running through some drills with his sword while Finn loosened out his muscles from his earlier bout, shaking out his arms and shoulder all while bouncing on the balls on his feet. Once both men were ready to fight, they adopted their starting positions, Seth leaning forward, knees slightly bent, coiling up his body for attack while Finn opposite him, placed his spear at his back and stood straight, eyes wide and open, focused intently on his opponent. He could see the physical exertion it took the younger man to ignore the effect his topaz gaze had on him.

‘BEGIN!’

The order was given and both men moved suddenly, like statues breathed to life. Finn was expecting their bout to start like any other, with both opponents circling each other to get a feel for one another’s movement, however Seth had anticipated this and did the complete opposite. He went charging towards the Hibernian, sword raised and Finn barely skipped out of his reach in time, his spear blocking the blow from Seth’s weapon. Seth allowed him no time to breath, spinning around he swiped at Finn, each attack fierce and fast, coming from different angles to find any gap in the Hibernian’s defense. There was no leeway for thought, Finn’s arms working on reflex alone, guided by his expert eyes to figure out where each new attack was coming from and to maneuver his spear in time to catch it.

The short bursts proving fruitless, Seth retreated a step, brought his sword back and swung it in a long, brutal swipe that Finn needed both hands on his spear to block it. The pair locked up, Finn gritting his teeth as Seth pushed down with his weapon to try and force back his smaller opponent. So focused on not losing this battle of strength, Finn barely noticed the sweeping leg hurtling towards him until it was a fraction of a foot away. He jumped, the leg missing its target and Finn decided to try a trick of his own. Pulling away from their lock-up abruptly, he pirouetted around to Seth’s back and swept his spear along the ground. Seth, having fallen forward from the sudden change in momentum turned and only just managed to jump over Finn’s spear.

Mutterings from the crowd nearby told of how impressed they were by the combat on display. They weren’t alone on that matter. With Seth finally taking a step back to catch his breath, Finn allowed himself a minute to appreciate the skill of his new secret lover. The fast and brutal way he was attacking him now told Finn that he had truly taken it easy on him in the beginning, treating him like the rookie he was. But now, Seth was giving Finn his all, testing him to his absolute limits of his ability by using the limits of his own. It was the greatest sign of respect he could present to the Hibernian.

The pause was short-lived and as Seth came running towards him, Finn threw away his original plan (a tactic that he knew Seth had already figured out anyway) and surprised his opponent by rushing to meet him head-on. The bout turned into a vicious clash of sword and spear, as beautiful as it was ferocious. Each stunning attack leaving its audience in awe, their breath stolen away as it was blocked with grace and ease. As each man took turns to attack, block and retreat, it appeared to their onlookers as if both men had practiced this bout like a tightly choreographed dance, each move displaying their unrivalled athleticism, each clang of their blows ringing out their titan strength and as the dance wore on, and the sweat began to bead bright on their respective foreheads, it flaunted their inhuman stamina.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ Ricochet croaked out, as he stood agape next to Regal. ‘They work so well together, you can almost see the sparks flying. It’s like… like…’

‘Flint and steel,’ Regal mused beside him, an enigmatic smile on his lips.

Finn was nearly spent, his forehead burning with sweat that dripped, stinging, into his eyes, his limbs shaking, weakening into the four lumps of semolina pudding. His defenses were weakening and one blow would finish him off. But one thing kept him going. Seth was slowing down too.

He just had to hold on a little longer, just a little-

Seth’s sword finally found its target. Hitting Finn’s arm with such force that had it been made of steel, it would have cleaved the limb in two, it shocked Finn into dropping his spear and spun him around so that Seth was at his back. He staggered from the shock of the blow, hand clutched to his throbbing bicep, blind to his opponent behind him who raised his weapon high for the final assault.

He’d reeled his prey in effortlessly.

As Seth pulled his sword back for the final swing, Finn leapt, his movement so rapid it would have been missed in a blink of an eye, his leg snapping back, arching gracefully right over his left shoulder and smashed directly into the side of Seth’s temple. Dazed by the sudden blow to his skull, Seth stumbled, as Finn fell onto his back, rolled smoothly onto his knees, his hand finding his spear as if they were bound by a magic spell. Seth never saw the spear coming, entangling itself in his ankles, he fell backwards, landing hard on the packed earth. The dust from his fall was still raining down as Finn stood upright, stamped one bare foot on his downed opponent and placed the spear at his jugular.

The fight was over so suddenly that the audience was left dumbstruck.

Then they bellowed out their amazement loud enough to deafen their victor.

Finn ignored the cacophony of noise singing his praises. Standing, hot and slick with perspiration, panting heavily from the exertion of their bout, he was grinning at his opponent, still pinned beneath his spear. Seth was smiling back, the pride pouring from him as easily as the sweat on his sun-kissed skin.

With a final flourish, Finn pulled the spear away from Seth’s neck and stepped off the younger man, offering a hand to help him to his feet. Only once the junior officer was upright again and the pair exchanged a courteous handshake, did they face the exuberant ravings of their captivated audience.

Finn looked down at his reflection in the washbasin. A week ago, David the slave had been staring back at him, small and weak and helpless but today, the reflection was of a new man. Cheeks flushed, brow sweaty and teeth showing white in a brilliant smile, the man wore a tunic of brown and plates of armour over his chiseled muscles. He looked strong, confident but most importantly happy.

This was Finn Bálor. The soldier.

Finn looked up as the door to the washroom opened and Seth walked in. Seeing the pair were alone, Seth jammed a chair under the door handle to give them privacy before rushing towards his lover. Both hands wrapped around the back of Finn’s head, his lips capturing the Hibernian’s mouth with such force that the older man fell back against the wall. The Hibernian let out a laugh, a small puff of air that tickled Seth’s lips as he placed open mouth kisses along Finn’s jaw, hungry and lustful.

‘You were incredible,’ Seth gasped out between kisses. ‘Amazing. Mesmerizing. Exhilarating.’

Finn’s mouth finally managed to catch up to Seth’s and their lips locked, Finn probing into Seth’s with his tongue, the tang of that sweet cider on his taste buds. ‘You were pretty good yourself,’ he teased as he pulled back, wanting to see Seth’s doe eyes but the pair were closed, lost in a daze of desire. ‘You were holding back on me before.’

‘I didn’t just now,’ Seth protested, not ready to remove his lips from Finn yet. Finn rested his head back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of Seth’s lips tickling the sensitive skin just under his ear. ‘That was a nasty trick you played.’

‘What trick?’ Finn asked, closing his own eyes as he soothed into Seth’s embrace. He let out a whine deep in his throat as both of Seth’s hands grasped his naked thighs.

‘This,’ he heard Seth breathy answer beside his ear. ‘How was I meant to concentrate with these beautiful things on full display?’ Finn groaned out, riled up by Seth’s touch on his bare skin. It was as far removed from that of Corbin’s as it was possible to be. His grip was strong but gentle, his skin soft and warm. It gave Finn flashbacks of winter nights in the farmhouse where, after working all day out in the frost, he would grab a stray lump of coal from the fire and hold it between his hands to keep warm. Those same, warm stones were on his thighs now, rubbing up and down, fingernails softly digging into his skin.

He would later tell Seth about the real reason he’d discarded his breeches in favour of the loincloth. It was not meant as a distraction at all. Ever since he had come to the castle and been given a full set of clothes, he’d felt restricted. Perhaps it was he way he instinctively bound the chords of his breeches so tight as some form of security, or simply that he had grown accustomed to the freedom his legs felt without them, he wasn’t sure but he’d known since day one that his breeches were causing him more discomfort than anything else. But he stubbornly refused to remove them, fearing it was yet another result of Corbin’s conditioning.

But now, seeing as he had turned one of his master’s tricks against him, by discovering his feelings for Seth, he was determined to spit this back in the eye of his jailor too. Ridding himself of his breeches had been the final step he needed to move past his time in captivity. Corbin had tried to ridicule by dressing him like a whore, but now that very attire had given him the edge he needed to bring his speed and agility to the forefront of his combat style. Unrestrained, unrestricted, he finally felt the full force of his wings and nothing had held him back in his bout with Seth.

But he would explain this later. For now, as he lifted his chin up, he happily surrendered himself to his lover. The skin of his neck between jaw and collar became exposed and Seth pounced, placing his lips on the receptive skin above Finn’s pulse and began to suck it mercilessly like the fearful Abhartach himself. Finn became lost in a trance of passion, craving Seth’s touch all the more and succumbing to his mercy, feeling the cloth of his subligaculum becoming tighter.

‘Tonight,’ he rasped out and Seth pulled away slightly to allow his lover to speak. ‘I want you tonight.’

‘You sure you’re ready?’ Seth asked, lifting his head to look into Finn’s eyes but found them shut, both orbs rolling around lazily behind his lids. ‘We can wait longer.’

‘Do you want to wait?’ Finn asked, lifting his lids only a fraction to eye his lover. His topaz eyes were glazed, as if he were drunk. It was intoxicating to the junior officer.

‘I could do this right here, right now,’ he blurted out and grinned when he heard Finn chuckle. That laugh and that smile – he would gladly admit that he was addicted to both. The skin on Finn’s swan neck was still exposed and Seth lunged in for another bite but Finn lowered his chin, cutting him off.

‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait,’ Finn lightly chided the younger man. ‘I’m stinking like Ol’ Cally and my belly’s about to eat itself if I don’t satisfy it.’ Seth pouted, hoping his obvious disappointment would change the Hibernian’s mind. Finn smiled at him and captured his lips in one last, sweet kiss. ‘Tonight, love,’ he reassured the younger man. ‘You only have to wait a few more hours.’

Refreshed from a thorough wash with armour removed and a clean tunic, Finn found his friends in the mess hall and joined them with his own plateful of food. He was given a hero’s welcome, having clearly been the topic of manic discussion since his bout with Seth. As soon as he sat down, he was bombarded with questions, which were only hushed when Ricochet scolded the lot of them for distracting the Hibernian while he was trying to eat. They agreed on a shaky truce to converse among themselves until Finn had finished his meal.

‘You should be proud of today,’ Ricochet whispered across to Finn while the others chatted amongst themselves (analyzing every second of the earlier bout before getting in to a hot debate over whether Seth would have fared better had he armed himself with spear instead of sword).

Finn politely finished swallowing his fish, removing a bone from between his teeth before answering with a humble nod. ‘I am,’ he said with a small smile. ‘It really showed me how far I’ve come today and I have all of you to thank for that. You, Regal, Seth,’ he looked over to his other friends who were so enraptured by their argument that they hadn’t even noticed the clandestine chat, ‘them. I have no idea how to repay you all.’

‘By passing the exam,’ Ricochet returned with an easy shrug of the shoulders. ‘And you will, easily, if you fight like you did today. No matter what they throw at you.’

‘Corbin won’t make it easy,’ Finn noted solemnly, looking down at his plate. ‘He’ll use every dirty trick in the book to keep me in his clutches.’

‘You’ll be ready,’ Ricochet told him, his voice unwavering.

And for once, Finn actually began to believe him.

Unfortunately, that first dirty trick came sooner than Finn expected and, despite Ricochet’s encouraging words, the Hibernian was far from ready for it.

‘ATTENTION!’

The order jolted the entire room to their feet. At first Finn sat like he always did, but this time his naivety was not passed over by his friends and a warning from Ricochet brought the young Hibernian to his feet, standing to attention like the rest albeit not with the accompanying salute. It was at that moment that he realised the voice that had given the order was not the rich, deep tones of Apollo’s drawl but something more shrill.

The voice of Lionel Rush!

‘Show respect for your newly appointed Field Marshal, Roberto Lashley,’ Rush shouted to the crowd as the man himself entered the room, closely followed by the hulking figure of McIntyre. Behind him, Finn spied Seth and instantly felt his heart turn to ice at the panicked expression his lover shot his way. As the roomful of soldiers roared out ‘FIELD MARSHALL, SIR!’ to their new leader, Finn felt every ounce of resolve leave him. His knees were going weak and they were about to buckle any second.

‘Welcome back Officer McIntyre,’ Rush went on followed by another round of synchronized chants from the soldiers. ‘And praise newly promoted Officer Rollins.’ As the men around him acknowledged his lover, Finn felt the panic growing. Only one man could have allowed Seth’s ascendance to officer.

‘And finally, show the utmost, deepest respect to your newly appointed High Constable, Baron Thomas Corbin, the third of his name.’

The breath left Finn and he staggered back, finding the mantelpiece of the fire for support. He was blinded to everything around him, the cheers of the soldiers, the look of concern from his friends, even the glances Seth desperately shot his way. All he could see was the towering form of his master enter the room, the crest of his new position pinned to his cloak as he strode to the head of the table. Those cold, grey eyes scanned the room and fell almost instantly onto Finn. A wicked grin pricked his lips, full of malice as he spied his slave cowering away in the shadows.

Finn felt a slight draught to his left. Turning, he saw an open window and seeing his chance for escape, made a dash for it.

Seth burst into his chambers and gasped out with relief when he found Finn furiously pacing back and forth. ‘When I saw you leave like that, I thought you might have run away,’ he confessed, striding up to Finn and pulling him into his arms, never wanting to let him go.

‘And where would I run to?’ the older man replied with such helplessness in his voice that Seth gripped him tighter.

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you he had returned,’ Seth rubbed his cheek across Finn’s soft hair, feeling it bristle his nostrils. ‘I only found out minutes before. I was called into the antechamber and they were all there. All he did was promote me then we all walked into the mess hall. I barely had time to process it myself.’

Finn didn’t reply to his apology, in fact, he barely seemed to register Seth’s explanation at all. ‘He’s coming for me, Seth,’ he muttered, as if under a spell. ‘Just when I finally found you, he’s going to rip me away from you.’

‘Hey, nothing has changed,’ Seth pulled back and grabbed Finn’s upper arms, shaking the shorter man to try and snap him out of his trance. ‘We knew he would come back, it’s just a little earlier than expected, that’s all.’

The newly appointed officer jumped as the door to his chambers opened sharply, the dread in his gut only increasing as he watched the towering form of Corbin enter. His granite eyes narrowed as he spied the close proximity of the two men but chose to ignore it in favour of the dark-haired Hibernian who was frozen with fear.

‘David,’ he said, every syllable flying from his lips like pointed arrows, ‘is that how you welcome your master home after his travels? By jumping out of a window like a lunatic?’ The question seemed rhetorical yet Corbin paused, waiting for a reply that never came. ‘Now, I shall be willing to forgive your behavior, put this down to the surprise of my early return, if you follow the proper code of courtesy now. Come to me.’

Seth felt Finn begin to move and grabbed his wrist tightly, forcing him to stay where he was. Finn’s breathing picked up, telling Seth he was growing more scared by the second.

‘David,’ Corbin’s tone made no attempt to hide his growing impatience, ‘I gave you an order. Come. Here.’

‘His name is Finn Bálor and he’s not going anywhere, Corbin.’ The words had left Seth’s lips before he’d even registered.

Finally, the newly appointed High Constable turned his attention to his officer, as if he’d forgotten Seth was even in the room until that very moment. He shot the nastiest of glares at the man with the golden streak in his hair, a look that sent chills down his spine. ‘That’s _High Constable_ Corbin to you, _Officer_ Rollins,’ Corbin warned Seth in a threatening manner, ‘and as your commanding officer, you will show me the proper respect or else I will have you brought against the judge. Your King isn’t here to bail you out this time.’

‘Seth, it’s fine,’ Finn uttered softly, prying the younger man’s grip off of his wrist.

‘Finn, no,’ Seth tried to protest but Finn shook his head despairingly at him before padding silently over his master.

‘About time,’ Corbin snarled. As soon as Finn was within reach, he grabbed the Hibernian by the collar and yanked him towards him. With a sickening crack, Corbin smacked Finn brutally across the cheek, snapping the older man’s head to the side. Seth took a step forward, rage filling him but he held back for fear of incriminating them both. ‘I must say I’m disappointing in you. I am gone but two weeks and you’ve forgotten everything I taught you. Never heed, however. I will beat it back into you in a day or two.’ He slapped Finn again, the Hibernian’s cheek now covered in a vicious red welt.

‘STOP!’ Seth bellowed, unable to stand by and watch Corbin’s treatment of his lover. ‘OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL-‘

‘Do not use the Heavenly Father’s name in vain, Rollins,’ Corbin warned in a vicious pitch, enough to make Seth recoil. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the mark on his neck. I should have known you would make a move the second I turned my back. You have always had eyes for my lover, haven’t you?’

‘… not yours.’ The voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

‘Pardon me?’ Corbin snarled. Seth could only shake his head from side-to-side. He hadn’t said a thing.

Finn turned his battered cheek around to face Corbin, defiance in his topaz eyes as they locked onto his master’s grey orbs, which were growing wider by the second with fury. This time there was no mistaking his words, delivered strong and clear. ‘I am _not_ yours.’

‘You forget your place, _slave_ ,’ Corbin growled down at Finn. Seth flinched as another brutal smack bruised Finn’s cheek. This time, there was no time for recovery as Corbin grabbed a fistful of Finn’s dark hair, forced his head back around and planted a violent kiss on the Hibernian’s lips.

Seth felt his stomach curl up into knots, a pocket of vomit threatening to jump up his throat as he watched the horrendous display. It wasn’t the shock of seeing Corbin lock lips with his lover, it was Finn’s reaction, the way he pursed his lips tightly, eyes screwed shut as he thrashed his head from side-to-side, trying to escape the clutches of Corbin’s mouth. The towering man’s lips were wide apart, his tongue slurping over Finn’s chin and jawline before his whole mouth clenched down over Finn’s lips, sucking them hard as if trying to draw poison from a snakebite.

Finally, after several agonising minutes, Corbin released Finn and with one last look of smugness, he flung the Hibernian away. Finn would have fallen to the floor if Seth had not ran to catch him, the pair looking on as Corbin made to leave.

‘We will deal with your insubordination later,’ Corbin said, turning his back on the two men. ‘For now, you may focus on your exam.’

‘You’re still allowing him to take it?’ Seth asked, barely able to believe his superior.

‘Of course, I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labour,’ Corbin’s voice was as flat and void of emotion as ever but his tone was easily read. He was mocking them. ‘Be ready at first light tomorrow.’

‘Wait? Tomorrow?’ Seth protested. ‘You gave us three weeks!’

Corbing turned sharply, freezing the two men with his pointed glare. ‘I said you had until my return. First light, tomorrow, is that understood.’

Seth’s teeth raked his bottom lip, the bridge of his nose scrunched up with anger. ‘Yes, sir,’ he gritted out, each word a struggle. Corbin said no more, only gave a curt nod of his head before disappearing through the chamber door.

‘Bastard,’ Finn cursed, wiping his lower face on his tunic. He was shaking violently in Seth’s arms but he didn’t know if it was through fear or rage.

‘Finn?’ Seth asked tentatively, afraid to accidently push his lover off the edge.

‘Kiss me,’ it was an order, not a request but even so, Seth hesitated. ‘I need to get rid of this wretched taste.’ Seth nodded and obliged, leaning forward and Finn came barreling in to meet him. The pair exchanged an open mouth kiss, Finn tongue pulling Seth’s into his mouth and encouraging it to swirl around, painting over Corbin’s saliva with his own. After giving his lover’s mouth a thorough cleansing, Seth tried to pull away but Finn followed, refusing to release him just yet. He felt Finn’s rough, calloused fingers stroking through his long, two-toned hair, one hand gripping the curve at the back of his skull, while the others caressed down his neck, trailing softly over his breastplate until it reached his muscular thigh where it came to a cautious halt. At last, Finn pulled back, his dusky pink lips swollen and he looked expectantly into Seth’s eyes.

Seth sighed as he took in the sight of his lover. The welt on his cheek had swollen and was burning a fierce, bright red. It only heighted the intensity of the blue in Finn’s hooded eyes as he looked at Finn like a young pup, expecting to be given scraps from the table. Seth reached up to rub the back of his fingers on the older man’s battered cheek but other than a lazy blink, Finn kept his piercing gaze on him.

‘What is it?’ Seth finally asked.

‘I want to be intimate with you,’ Finn said, a slight wobble to his voice. ‘Right now.’

‘Finn,’ Seth sighed. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want-‘

‘I do want it,’ Finn returned sharply. ‘For all we know, this could be our last night together…’

‘Finn, don’t say such-‘

‘… and I want to experience all of you while I can.’ Those medusa eyes kept their hold, their spell almost complete. How could Seth hope to resist them? ‘I’ve wasted enough time.’

Seth let out a long, drawn out breath before nodding his head for approval. Finn leapt in to capture his lips in a show of gratitude before sitting back on his haunches and reaching for the hem of his tunic. His fingers were trembling, Seth noted regretfully, clumsily trying to clutch the rough-spun brown fabric as he yanked it up and over his head. One arm became caught and it took several attempts to disentangle himself from the garment. By the time, he was free, his short hair was all mussed up and his cheeks flushed. He was breathing hard now, even though he had not done anything to exert himself, telling Seth that he was incredibly nervous, scared even. There were too many bad memories and each of them were floating to the surface, clouding Finn’s mind with doubt.

‘Damn knots,’ Finn spat, his shaking fingers unable to undo the cord of his breeches (which had since been restored to his attire after his encounter with Seth in the washroom). ‘Help me,’ he huffed out, dropping his hands in his lap.

Seth leaned forward and went to untangle the knots at Finn’s waist but found he could not budge them either. ‘Why are they bound so tight? Were you scared of them falling off?’ His attempt at humour was soundly ignored by the Hibernian.

‘Use your knife,’ Finn instructed the younger man. ‘Cut them off.’ Seth, again, tried to protest but when Finn became agitated and tried to ask for the knife so he could do it himself, Seth gave in and proceeded to cut loose the cord on Finn’s breeches. Despite doing what he asked, the act only seemed to worsen the Hibernian’s agitation and once the bindings were severed, he hopped up onto his feet and shimmied unceremoniously out of the garment, tossing it aside like yesterday’s privy water.

He didn’t even look at Seth the entire time he unwound his subligaculum, the shivering in his fingers now working its way up his arms and into his shoulders. As he discarded the last of his attire and stood in all of his naked glory, his whole body began to vibrate as if he were wrought with the chill.

‘Finn, wait a second,’ Seth tried to coax the older man back onto the floor with him but he was already making his way towards the bed. Seth watched on as Finn lowered himself onto the bottom edge of his bunk, positioning himself on all fours, his backside exposed and his face burrowed deep into the sheets.

‘I’m ready for you,’ he heard Finn’s lilted accent muffle out, the tremble now evident in his speech.

Seth scratched a hand roughly through his hair as he got to his feet, feeling tears prick his eyes at the sorry state before him. He would hate seeing anybody like this, following the orders they’d always been told to keep, thinking that this was the only way to be intimate with someone, but to see Finn, his lover, his medusa, his siren, his everything, reduced to this sorry state was heart-wrenching.

‘Finn, love,’ he softly approached the waiting Hibernian and placed a hand at his shoulder. Finn’s entire body jolted with fear, twisting Seth’s heart even more. ‘Look at me.’

He expected Finn to keep his face away from him, like he always did when he was afraid, but the slave instinct had well and truly kicked in and the Hibernian sat up obediently. Seth let out a gasp at seeing tears in Finn’s eyes but, as always, the older man refused to let them dash his cheek.

‘Finn,’ Seth tried to smile at his lover but his lips were too weak. He knew deep down that Finn was determined to see this through and he understood why. If everything did go wrong the following morning and they were separated, never to see each other again, he couldn’t allow Finn to constantly live with the regret that he’d never become one with Seth when he had the opportunity. On saying that, he wanted this to be a fond memory, one that made him smile in his darkest days. He didn’t want… _this!_

Seth reached out a gentle hand and cupped Finn’s chin. He’d allowed his facial hair to grow since arriving at the castle and his jawline and neck were now covered in a beard as dark as the hair on his head. Seth rubbed his fingertips through the soft bristles, enjoying the sensation. His touch had the desired effect and Finn relaxed into his grasp, his trembling subsiding somewhat.

‘Finn,’ Seth said and watched as the older man looked up at him. ‘I want to be able to see your face the whole time.’

Finn gave an uncertain nod. ‘I would like that too,’ he agreed.

‘What we did in the washroom earlier,’ Seth probed, still stroking Finn’s chin. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ the Hibernian replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

‘Ok then,’ Seth smiled softly as he held out his hands for Finn to grasp and Seth pulled him up onto his feet. ‘Let’s start where we left off, ok?’

‘Ok,’ Finn returned, his voice feeling less shaky as Seth lead him towards the wall, only this time, it was the New-Worlder pressed up against the stonework. He waited a second, a pause lingering in the air. Finn was confused at first until he saw Seth give his lips a cheeky lick and, understanding the subtle gesture, Finn sheepishly moved in to kiss the younger man. It was a gentle kiss at first, only lip on lip, but as the Hibernian quickly forgot his fears and became more comfortable, he deepened the embrace, both men opening their mouth to let one another in.

Finn felt a thrill rise up in him at being in such close proximity to his lover and without warning his hands began to explore. Seth, keeping his own hands down by his side so as not to spook the older man, allowed Finn to entangle his fingers in his long hair again, cup the back of his neck and trace down his strong, densely muscled arms.

‘You can undress me, if you want,’ Seth offered seductively, during a pause in their kissing. A spark of mischief lit up the older man’s eyes and Seth chuckled in reply. It broke more of the tension and Finn actually smiled himself, albeit briefly.

The Hibernian’s rough fingers went to the buckles of Seth’s breastplate. Still not used to the set-up of the armour’s fastening, he struggled to undo them and had to break away from their kissing (with a loud groan of regret) and crouch down in front of them in order to see them properly. Seth couldn’t hide the mirth as he watched his lover fiddle with the buckles as if it were a puzzle box from the far-east, almost impossible to open. When a snort of laughter escaped his nose, Finn looked up and shot him a nasty look.

‘You could help me, ye know,’ he chastised.

‘You’re doing a great job,’ Seth encouraged the flustered Hibernian. ‘Here, I’ll do my greaves and gauntlets.’ Working together, they finally relieved Seth of his basic armour and Finn took control once again, easily discarding Seth of his tunic. Taking a step back, Finn paused to admire Seth’s impressive physique, staring down at the hardened muscle with such wonder that it brought a blush to Seth’s cheek. One calloused hand reached up and softly stroked a palm over the soft, warm skin, chuckling tenderly at the feel of soft fuzz under his fingers.

Having Seth laid bare before him like this released something primal inside of Finn and he felt the organ between his legs twitch as if taking on a life of its own. As his palm circled the well-formed pectoral of his lover, his thumb pad found the soft dark skin of Seth’s nipple. He teased it, his blue eyes locked on the dusky flesh as it hardened in perfect unison with his member. An instinct took hold of his senses and he lunged forward to bring the nipple into his mouth. That instinct only grew stronger when he heard Seth gasp out. He _loved_ that sound, wanted to hear more of it.

He nibbled the sensitive skin between his teeth, hearing the groans oozing from his lover, as sweet as the song of the nightingale on a summer’s eve. Removing his mouth, Finn pulled back to admire his work, seeing the pert skin glisten with his own saliva while above him, his lover whined at the loss. But Finn had no intention of releasing Seth’ body from his lips just yet and grabbing onto Seth’s waist, his peppered kisses down Seth’s stomach, burying his mouth in each and every groove of his lover’s defined abdomen.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured between each caress, feeling the fuzz of Seth’s snail trail tickle his nose as he neared the hem of his breeches.

Above him, unseen to Finn’s eye, Seth shook his head desperately. ‘I’m a mere mortal,’ he rasped out, ‘in the presence of a God.’

Finn actually chuckled at that. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, my love.’ Now on his knees, the older man paused to look up at the effect his touch was having on his sweetheart. He grinned on seeing the deep red flush on Seth’s cheeks, his forehead shining with sweat and his doe eyes hooded with lust. Those long, thick lashes only added to the effect that he was deep under Finn’s spell, as effectively as the Medusa of old.

In that one, brief moment, Finn understood how perfect this was. Only a few minutes ago, he had reverted back to David the slave, readying himself for Seth the same way he had for Corbin, almost paralysed with fear. Yet within seconds, Seth had calmed him, lead him to a place that made him more comfortable and transformed his terror into impassioned desire. How could Finn ever have feared that Seth and Corbin were the same? The man before him was as far removed from the one who’d imprisoned him as it was possible to be.

He’d realised it the moment Corbin had pulled him into that sickening embrace. Those cold, rough hands grabbing at him, that foul breath that always brought him to the brink of throwing up, everything about Corbin had come crashing back into Finn’s reality and he suddenly realised how wonderful Seth’s kisses were in every possible way. Warm, loving, gentle. Even when Seth was rough with Finn (as he was back in the washroom) it was through a desperate need to be as close as possible to his lover. If he could, he would pull Finn right into his chest to make them one, a whole.

When Corbin kissed him, it was purely to humiliate him. To dominate.

One-by-one, Finn’s fingertips came to rest on the hem of Seth’s breeches. He looked up, gazing deep into Seth’s eyes, seeking permission. It was given in the form of a nod of the head, the blush on Seth’s cheek growing brighter by the second. It was breathtaking.

The chords of Seth’s tights were not as constrictive as Finn’s had been and came away easily between the older man’s weathered fingers. Slowly, slowly, Finn eased the material down, savouring each new sight of tanned flesh as it revealed itself to him. The perfectly formed ‘V’ of Seth’s pelvis, surrounded on both sides by large, shapely thighs, leading down, down until…

Finn’s grin widened as Seth’s member burst free from its confines. It was as hard and swollen as his own, the tip almost as red as Seth’s cheeks and shining in the dim light with dampness. Finn’s teeth raked his lower lip, feeling an urge to pull the beautiful specimen into his mouth. Without removing his eyes from the organ between Seth’s legs, he voiced his desire. A loud gulp from above told Finn he had the permission he seeked but it was not enough. ‘I need to hear you say it, love.’

‘Oh Finn, please…,’ Seth struggled to form the words. Finn knew the closeness between Seth’s cockhead and his lips were driving the man above him crazy. He was sure to even feel Finn’s breath on his delicate skin, and yet, he waited. Waited for the words to form. ‘Yes! Yes! Please!’

Those three little letters. As powerful an aphrodisiac as the sight before him. Finn felt another twinge between his thighs.

He brought the entirety of Seth into his mouth. The strangled gasp above him made him groan out with pleasure, exciting even more whines from his lover as his cockhead felt the vibrations emit from the back of Finn’s throat. If there was one thing to thank Corbin for, it was that Finn was now a master of his gag reflex and it didn’t take him long to pull Seth in further and further until his nose was nestled deep into the curly hair at the base of the younger man’s pelvis.

As Finn’s mouth got to work, sucking hard on Seth’s member, his tongue wrapping itself around the shaft, he felt the younger man lose control. His hips began jerking, his hands balling into fists and banging into the stonewall behind him. Finn would have chortled if he could. Reaching up, he grabbed both of Seth’s hands and transferred them to Finn’s head, feeling the warm fingers entangle themselves in his short spikes, gripping tightly. Finn felt a thrill dance up at his spine at the burn. In return, he seized Seth’s thighs, holding them in place. Now both men had a hold of the reigns, Seth controlling the pace of Finn’s lips, Finn controlling the movement of Seth’s hips.

Together, they worked as a unit to bring each other to their respective climaxes. Finn enjoyed his rule over Seth’s hips, relishing in the shock of his lover every time he pulled him in tight and swallowed down every inch of him. He held his end of the partnership, however and each time Seth pulled back on his hair, he would release his hold of Seth’s manhood, feeling the thick shaft slide out his throat, leaving his lips with a loud, wet pop. Each time, Seth only wanted to look into his lover’s eyes and see that they were still enjoying the experience and once Finn assured the younger man that there were no longer tears hiding behind the topaz, he would resume, teasingly licking the whole way down Seth’s shaft before taking it in deep again.

‘Oh, Finn,’ Seth croaked and Finn knew what was coming. He’d felt the twitching in his mouth already. ‘Finn, please, I’m gonna… STOP!’ Finn pulled back immediately, gazing up at Seth with his swollen lips spread in a wide, self-assured grin.

‘Please let me continue,’ he pleaded with the younger man.

‘But I’m about to-‘

‘I know,’ the grin widened. Finn’s lips were as red as the welt on his cheek. ‘I want to taste you.’

The look on Seth’s face was enough to send Finn into rapture. The second he nodded and the fingers in Finn’s hair began to pull him close, Finn delved back into action. This time, as Finn took him deep, he rumbled the back of his throat, savouring the mewls of delight above and finally he felt the younger man’s hips buck. Letting go of Seth’s thigh, he rushed to place his hand at his own throbbing member and together, the two men came in perfect unison. Finn felt a welcome warm sensation hit the back of his throat and he greedily gulped down all that his lover had to offer as his own seed dripped down his naked thigh.

Seth slumped back against the stonewall with a contented sigh, his whole body trembling with ecstasy. Releasing him, Finn fell onto his backside and admired the stunning sight, his own hand still between his legs and stroking it lazily.

‘That was… I feel…. oh, Finn…’ Seth was having trouble with his words again. Finn loved when that happened. It flattered him no end. He watched as the heavy lids of his lover fluttered open. ‘I mean, I… HEY’

‘What?’ Finn asked with a cheeky shrug of the shoulders. ‘Do continue.’

‘You just gave me the most incredible experience I’ve ever had and I don’t even get to return the favour?’ He pointed down as Finn’s spent manhood, slowly shrinking back to normal.

Finn laughed as he got to his feet, his knees wobbling from the effort. He placed both hands on Seth’s cheeks, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. ‘You’ve done enough for me,’ he whispered softly, resting his forehead against Seth’s. ‘This was my chance to repay you. Thank you.’

He left out what was truly on his mind. That, come tomorrow, if they were to be torn apart forever, he would always remember this night and he would always be grateful for sharing this moment with the man he loved.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slave's fate is decided

The night was spent together, in each other’s arms, both men as naked as the day they were born. Neither slept. Thinking of nothing but the following day when their future would be decided.

They dressed in silence, a tension as tight as a closed fist surrounding them as they walked together to the armoury. There was no other living person around so they chanced to hold hands as they descended the staircase from Seth’s chambers, Seth gripping Finn’s so tightly that he threatened to cut off the blood supply.

Apollo was waiting for them at the armoury, Finn’s unique suit in his hands. He wasn’t alone. The smallest of smiles ghosted the Hibernian’s lips as he spied each of his friends there to support him through his trial. It buoyed him with a modicum of hope.

They all sat in silence, waiting for the dawn. Caoimhe arrived with a tankard of ale and cups for everyone, including herself and together, they toasted to the day ahead and a sure victory. Finn sipped his all while staring at the floor.

Regal came in just before first light. ‘I came by to wish you every good fortune,’ he said, placing both hands on Finn’s shoulders. 

‘You’re not staying?’ Finn asked, the panic growing in his topaz eyes. ‘But I thought-‘ 

‘I have urgent business to attend to,’ Regal cut him off. ‘I hope to return for the result.’ 

‘But who will judge the exam?’ Seth asked, fearing the worst. 

The worst was realised. ‘Corbin,’ Regal sighed. Finn lowered his head. 

‘You can’t be serious!’ Seth protested. ‘He will do everything in his power to make sure Finn fails.’ 

‘He is the High Constable of the New Cross Territories,’ Regal replied, his voice brokering no more argument. ‘It’s a new position and he will wish to show his worthiness of the appointment. He will judge this exam fairly, I assure you.’ 

Seth backed down but the damage had been done. As Regal gave one last blessing and left, the atmosphere in the small room became stifling. 

Finn was the last to leave, staring down into the remnants of his ale with a heavy heart. Feeling a warm hand pat his armoured shoulder, he looked up to find Seth smiling at him. ‘It’s time,’ was all he said. 

Finn nodded, downed the last of his ale and placed the cup back on the tray. Caoimhe flung her arms around him, telling him that the gods were watching and they would do right by him. Finn thanked her, inwardly wondering where these gods had been for the past year. 

Once outside, he took his spear and shield from Apollo and went to the head of the group, leading his small entourage towards the training ground. With every step, he forced his doubt far down, deep inside of him. He couldn’t afford to hesitate right now, he needed the belief in himself that he could do this. 

Corbin was already there, leaning back in a ornate chair that had been carried outside for his use. He was flanked on either side by McIntyre, Lashley and Rush. McIntyre had a smug grin on his face as he eyed the Hibernian approaching, his eyes travelling down to take in Finn’s naked thighs (his breeches once again discarded). Corbin too, had noted the strange attire, taking in Finn from head to bare foot and back again. 

‘Regal told me of your… unusual suit,’ Corbin noted with a flat voice. ‘As he has already excused this, I will honour it. Now, take up your position and I will explain your task.’ 

Finn felt the pats on his back and shoulders from his friends, each one wishing him the best of luck. He turned and locked eyes with Seth who stared back with an unwavering gaze. 

‘You can do this,’ he said confidently and smiled warmly. Finn could not find the resolve to return the gesture. 

Walking onto the training ground, he suddenly felt so alone. 

‘Lashley,’ Corbin commanded, and the newly appointed Field Commander took up position opposite Finn, a training sword in his hands. Finn took in a deep breath. _So this is to be my opponent_ , he thought. Lashley was a good choice. A large man. Strong. Most importantly, Finn had never seen him fight so could not predict his movements. He would have to learn during their spar. 

‘Rush,’ Corbin commanded and Finn watched on as Lashley’s aid went to stand beside his superior, a smarmy grin on his face as he swiped his training sword back and forth. 

‘Two opponents?’ Ricochet was the one to voice everyone’s thoughts. 

‘Sir,’ Seth took up the mantle, having the most authority in Finn’s group of followers. ‘No trainee is asked to face two opponents during an exam.’ 

‘No trainee had gotten to choose their own armour before either,’ Corbin countered in his cold, calm manner. ‘Let’s be frank here, this is no ordinary exam. Therefore, I do not need to stick to the usual rules.’ 

Despite Seth gearing up for another protest, Finn could see there was no way out of this debacle. He would have to face both men, neither of which he’d ever fought before, and figure out a way to defeat them both. To his right, he heard Seth’s argument cut off by Corbin. 

‘Officer Rollins, if you would take over proceedings.’ 

With a snarl at his superior, Seth retorted, ‘Yes, sir,’ in a voice as sharp as an icicle. He stepped up to the sidelines of the training ground and placed both hands behind his back. ‘Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.’ Three grips tightened on weapons, each taking up a different stance. Lashley raised his shield, knees bent, shoulders forward, similar to how Seth readied himself. Rush peered over his shield, hopping from foot-to-foot impatiently. Only Finn remained upright, back straight, legs slightly apart, both shield and spear held down at his thighs. 

‘Ready… begin!’ 

Finn watched on as both of his opponent rushed towards him, taking in as much of their posture and movement as he could. Rush was first to reach him, striking out with a clumsy blow that Finn easily parried. He’d blocked another of the smaller man’s attacks before Lashley even joined the fray, bringing his training sword down in a deadly arc. Finn raised the small oval shield attached to his forearm and stopped the sword in its momentum. The blow had been impressive. Had the weapon been made of steel it would have certainly shattered Finn’s arms into pieces. 

Needing some separation, Finn cut off another of Rush’s wayward blows with his spear and bounded back several paces, creating some distance between himself and his opponents. As expected, Rush was by far the quickest of the two, boasting a speed twice that of his superior, however he was cocky, arrogant, too eager to show off and it showed in the attacks he’d manifested so far, none of which had come close to reaching their target. No, Rush would be easy enough to defend against; Lashley was the real threat. Slow, yes, but powerful. Finn’s arm would not last long in blocking his attacks. He had to find some way to down the larger man and quickly. 

His opponents were making their way towards him again but Finn looked on with high spirits as they raised their weapons in unison. A quick forward roll and he dodged both blows easily, hearing the clonk of wooden swords banging against one another behind him. Jumping onto his feet, he faced them once again, realising with horror that his tools were on the wrong side. He was now blocking Rush with his shield, which it would do with ease but his spear was no match for the power of Lashley’s sword. 

Fortunately, they had not learnt from their mistake of before and attacked in unison again. Finn masterfully rolled out of harm’s way a second time and righted himself so the proper tool was facing its rightful adversary. 

This was not the only stroke of good fortune to come Finn’s way. The first time the pair had surged towards him together, he had assumed it was a planned tactic that commander and aid had concocted (although the fact their swords had collided had confused him). Now, as he watched the pair crash into each other again, he realised this was not pre-planned at all, the revelation highlighted even more by Lashley shoving Rush back with such force it nearly knocked the smaller man to his backside. 

‘Out of my way!’ the Field Commander snarled at his aide, his true opponent forgotten in that moment. 

‘Y-yes, s-sir, sorry, s-sir,’ Rush quivered under his superior’s wrath. 

Finn watched all of this with great interest, his mind whirring like the needles of a loom weaving a new tapestry. He would have smiled if he could but his face remained pensive, not giving away his advantage. 

Lashley had his eyes back on the Hibernian, arm raised and point of sword aimed straight at Finn’s heart as he made another dash for him. Rush looped around the edges of the training ground, trying to flank Finn to force him towards his superior. Unknown to the smaller man, that’s exactly where Finn wanted to be. 

The Hibernian saw the look on Lashley’s face as he sprinted towards him, caughting the larger man off-guard. Frantically, the Field Marshal changed his tactic and lashed out with his sword, but Finn danced easily around to the bigger man’s back. His legs now strengthened to accomodate the extra weight of his greaves, Finn leapt like a majestic cat and landed on Lashley’s shoulders, wrapping his spear around his opponent’s throat and holding it tightly in place. 

The wind suddenly cut from his lungs, the larger man ground to a halt. He tried to jab Finn with his sword but the cunning Hibernian was out of his reach. Gurgling desperately now, he dropped both his sword and shield to free his hands and try to pry Finn’s fingers from his weapon. Finn only applied the pressure in response and Lashley fell to one knee. Out of options, he called across to his aide for help, his commands nothing but strangled squeals. 

‘I’m coming, sir,’ Rush spouted, making a beeline for his struggling superior. Finn couldn’t help the smile adorn his lips as he watched the smaller man, puffed up with his own pride at having to rescue his commanding officer, come barreling headlong into the fray, jumping up with his sword poised in both hands. 

Finn released Lashley and hopped off at the very last second, leaping back just in time to see Rush’s ill-judged attack hit his own leader square in the face. He leaned nonchalantly on his spear, mischief in his eyes as the large man howled out in pain and fury. 

‘YOU PISS-SWILLING IDIOT!’ Lashley bellowed as he clutched his nose, which was now gushing blood. ‘YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HIT HIM, YOU SHIT-BRAINED SON-OF-A-‘ 

‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ Rush stammered, dropping both of his weapons and grabbing the bottom of his tunic to help his superior wipe up the blood. His attempt to help was batted away by Lashley who then grabbed him by the collar. 

‘SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT, HUH?’ Lashley raised his huge meat of a fist, spewing every foul name under the sun. Rush cried out in panic, writhing in the larger man’s grasp like a fish trying to escape a net. Finn actually flinched at the blow. It knocked the smaller man out immediately. 

It was now time for Finn to finish the fight. Too occupied with his own injury and punishing his aide, Lashley never saw Finn dart towards him, never saw him dive down to a crouch and sweep his leg towards the larger man’s ankles. He’d barely stood up when he went crashing back down to earth and before he knew what had hit him, Finn’s foot was on his chest, his spear at his throat. 

‘IT’S OVER!’ Seth called out, unable to contain the joy in his tone. ‘Victory goes to Finn Bálor.’

A cheer went up from the small crowd and Finn stepped off his opponent, grinning from ear-to-ear. He’d never expected it to be _that_ easy but when he’d seen the discord between the two men and remembered how Rush had been noticeably absent the night Corbin had gathered them to announce his candidacy for High Constable, he knew that he could use the ill-feelings both men had towards each other against them. The end result turned out to be even more satisfying than he ever imagined.

He turned to face Corbin and the smile fell from his features. His sadistic master was wearing a grin of his own. He had no intention of making things easy for his slave.

‘McIntyre,’ Corbin called out and the mammoth Caledonian walked onto the field.

The cheers from the crowd of onlookers died down.

‘A second opponent?’ This time, it was Sami who couldn’t contain his outrage. ‘This is unheard of. Finn won fair and square!’

‘Officer Rollins, this New Frank is under your care, is he not?’ Corbin enquired, his cold eye glancing over to the two-toned hair man, who replied in the affirmative. ‘Then I suggest you remind him of his station and tell him to silence his tongue.’

Sami didn’t need the telling. He clammed up although his expression betrayed the feelings of ire he shared with his fellow soldiers as he, Neville and Owens were ordered to help Lashley and Rush away from the battlefield. Lashley, in a foul mood at his loss, slumped onto a stool near the wall while his aide was dumped unceremoniously in the dirt; his comrades keen to return to the sidelines to witness their companion take on the towering Caledonian.

McIntyre sneered at Finn, who noted he had no shield, nor any training sword, although he did observe the huge sheath of the man’s monstrous claymore strapped to his back.

‘You got the better of me last time, boy,’ McIntyre snarled at the smaller man, his sharp teeth glinting red in the growing light of dawn. ‘But that was a fluke. I’ll show you what I’m really made of.’

With a shrill screech, McIntyre removed the claymore from its sheath. Finn’s eyes widened at the sheer size of the weapon, which was nearly the same height as himself, its steel fashioned to a deadly point.

‘Put your weapon away, McIntyre,’ Seth’s voice was a warning from the sideline, ‘you cannot use it in an exam.’

‘I’ll allow it,’ Corbin countered and even though Seth was on the brink of exploding, he kept his cool. ‘Call it, Officer Rollins.’

‘Gentlemen, prepare yourselves,’ Seth’s teeth were gritted so hard he could barely spit the words out. ‘Ready… begin!’

Finn was out of options this time; if he tried to block the claymore’s blows with his spear, the steel would cleave it in half, if he used his shield, his arm would meet the same end. There was no time to think of tactics or clever tricks, all he could do was evade McIntyre’s brutal attacks. He leapt aside as the titanic sword came hurtling towards him, leaving a cavernous dent in the ground where he had stood a moment before. He stared in alarm at the result. That blow was no warning, McIntyre meant to cut Finn to pieces and judging by the cold demeanour of his master, Corbin could have cared less if the outcome of this bout was the slaughter of the Hibernian. Perhaps that was why he had been grinning – he saw his chance to rid himself of Finn once and for all.

This fight was suddenly about more than just his freedom. His very life was at stake!

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that, nor even a chance to hazard a glance Seth’s way. No doubt the newly appointed officer would be sick with worry, watching Finn desperately weave to and fro in nail-bitingly close attempts to dodge McIntyre’s deadly claymore. His sole focus was on his opponent and his blows to kill.

Finn bounded to the left, feeling the wind of the claymore’s swing whipping through his hair. A dive to the right and he could actually hear it whistling past. Each time, the failed efforts destroyed anything in its path, the battlefield between them now rife with potholes. Soon, Finn had to be mindful that he didn’t lose his footing in the divets all while dodging the next barrage of attacks.

Hopping back from another attempt, Finn misjudged the length of the claymore and the point found his upper arm, ripping through flesh and leaving a ragged gash on his bicep, just above the elbow. Finn hissed out in pain, using what fingers he could spare on his other hand to press down on the wound while keeping his grip on his spear. The gash was not overly deep but was already seeping with blood.

Taking a breather to revel in his small victory, McIntyre snickered smugly. Finn shot a hateful look back, gritting his teeth against the sting in his arm. He could still move it; thankfully, the cut had not severed anything vital, in fact, he had chalked the successful blow as a lucky shot from the Caledonian. But on examining it further he realised it was far from it. The claymore had struck the minute gap between the bottom of his galerus and his shield, a part of his body that was heavily armoured. McIntyre could easily had aimed for his exposed spear arm and done enough damage to disable it for the rest of the bout but he hadn’t.

He was sending Finn a message. He was toying with him.

The pause in the action over, Finn resumed his defensive stance and his opponent readied himself once more. A handful of effective evasions were cut short by yet another successful slash, this time finding the bare skin of Finn’s right thigh. He staggered back, grunting out in shock as he felt a sticky warmth trickle down his leg. Again, the injury was superficial, not meant to be anything other than a warning. Finn wondered how many of these warning shots he had left before McIntyre finally claimed his victory.

He couldn’t allow himself to despair. He had to focus. Keep up the game plan that Regal had taught him, keep evading until he had worn down his opponent and-

Regal!

It hit him like a lightning bolt. He knew was he had to do.

Jumping back, Finn missed the blade of McIntyre’s claymore but his foot fell into a pothole and he stumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on his side. From the sidelines, his band of supporters howled, every voice frantically yelling at him to get up, quick, on your feet, here he comes.

McIntyre lumbered up to the fallen man, a triumphant smirk smeared across his lips as he rested his mammoth claymore across his broad shoulder.

‘I told you, boy,’ he boomed over the cacophony of the onlookers beside them, ‘I said I was better than you and I have proven it. Now, you know what I want.’ He stood over Finn’s prone body, the Hibernian barely able to lift his head. ‘My name. Say it!’ A soft mumble sounded from the fallen man. It was not enough to satisfy the proud Caledonian. ‘What? I didn’t catch that.’

He bent down over Finn, placing a finger to his ear mockingly. So caught up with taunting his prey, he never even noticed the fist clenching onto the packed ground.

Finn burst up, throwing a handful of dried earth directly into his opponent’s eyes. McIntyre roared out with pain, hand clutching at his face as he tried to dislodge the dirt from his vision. In the ensuing chaos, Finn bolted to his feet and retreated several steps, watching the behemoth thrash around in agony, waiting.

Regal’s lesson a few short days ago may have taught Finn how to cope when such a strategy was used but there had been another message secretly imparted. He showed Finn how, if he remained calm and honed his sense of sound, he could hear where his opponent was and strike efficiently.

Unfortunately for McIntyre, Finn’s feet gave away no such clues.

Using his assassin tread, Finn crept up, unseen by his fallen foe, who wildly swiped his claymore from side-to-side in the hopes of striking the Hibernian. There was one spot his lengthy sword could not quite reach though, right at the centre of his back, the gap large enough to fit a slim build man on silent feet.

The claymore halted as McIntyre felt the blunted point of Finn’s spear press into the soft flesh at the base of his neck.

‘Don’t move,’ warned Finn, his voice frosty with deadly intent. ‘One slip of my wrist and I’ll sever your spine.’

McIntyre snarled like a feral dog, albeit one who had been whipped and trailed away with its tail between his legs. He released his hold on the claymore and it went crashing to the ground with a resounding clang.

‘IT’S OVER!’ Seth’s voice called the win. ‘Victory goes to Finn Bálor.’

The crowd was more muted this time, relieved rather than ecstatic; Finn’s close bout with McIntyre had spooked each of them. Even Owen’s normally pensive face was as white as a sheet. Finn saw Seth nod to Ricochet to escort McIntyre from the field, after which he released a long, drawn out breath, one he must have been holding in for the majority of his battle with the hulking Caledonian. Now though, he was smiling and Finn wished more than anything he could reassure his lover that everything was going to be ok but one glance Corbin’s way told the Hibernian that his conniving master still had one trick left to inflict on his weary slave.

Finn turned to face the towering man that had caused him so much hurt, wincing at the pain from his leg. Both his thigh and arm were now throbbing, the agony pulsing through his exhausted body like warning bells of alarm. The closer Corbin got to him, the softer the voices of the small crowd got until they dimmed to silence. Finn showed the man no such fear, locking his blue eyes directly into the grey orbs of his captor, his chin held high and his teeth gritted.

He had been afraid of this man for far too long. Now, with his lover, Seth by his side, he feared him no longer.

‘You have fought well, my dear, sweet David,’ Corbin cooed with his emotionless voice, every step bringing him closer to the waiting Hibernian. ‘I see you have worked extraordinarily hard. I am proud of you.’ Finn waited for the catch, there had to be a catch. ‘But you still have one last test before I can pass you. One more opponent.’ His fingers fumbled with the brooch at his throat and his wolf-skin cloak fell away to the floor. ‘Me.’

Finn knew it. From the moment Corbin and Seth had decided the terms of their wager, Finn knew he would eventually come face-to-face with his sadistic master. He would have relished the chance to exact his revenge any time, but at that moment he was worn out and injured, facing a fresh opponent who was rivaled by a mere few in the entire Red Army. Did he stand a chance against the fabled High Constable Baron Thomas Corbin?

‘Sir, I must protest!’ Suddenly Seth was standing between master and slave, right in the centre of the training field. ‘This time, you’ve gone too far! Finn has already faced three of your men and won. He has passed the exam!’

‘Officer Rollins,’ Corbin smiled coldly at the man with the golden streak in his hair. ‘I must thank you.’ Seth tensed up, waiting, just like Finn had, for the catch. ‘Your warning about the perils of backstreet politics in Londiunium was most helpful. Even so, I must confess, I found my time in the great city to be… enjoyable.’

Both Finn and Seth narrowed their eyes at the commanding officer. Something was coming, they could both feel it, like the unsettling sense of dread as a deadly storm rolls in.

‘There is this new-found fad that the folks of Anglia are enjoying at present,’ Corbin went on. ‘They call it a gauntlet trial. Whereby one man faces three opponents, each one immediately following the other. It is said to prove a man’s true mettle, to sort out the wheat from the chaff, you might say.’ Corbin looked over Seth’s shoulder to eye Finn. ‘I decided to test this new trial out on our latest recruit. See if he had what it takes. So far, he has proven himself worthy, having been victorious in two rounds.’ His gaze fell back onto Seth. ‘Defeat me and he passes the gauntlet and therefore… passes his exam.’

‘I won’t allow it,’ Seth seethed at his commander, damning any consequences.

‘Then he fails,’ Corbin hissed in reply.

‘Seth.’ Finn’s voice dragged the young officer’s attention away from his superior. He turned to find Finn standing in his beginner’s position, calm and collected, ready to begin the bout. ‘I want this.’

‘Good boy,’ Corbin smirked at Finn before turning his smarmy face back to Seth. ‘Rollins, fetch me a training spear. Let’s see who wields it best.’

With one last pensive look at his lover, Seth hurried towards the store, returning with a training spear, which he threw to Corbin. The high constable caught it effortlessly in one hand, giving it a flourishing twirl as he positioned it at his back. If he was trying to intimidate Finn, it wasn’t working.

‘Officer Rollins…’ Corbin began the order but Seth didn’t need to hear any more to understand.

‘Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.’ A pause as both men stared daggers at one another. ‘Ready… BEGIN!’

All the tactics, all the preparation, everything that Regal, Seth and his companions had taught him went soaring out of the window. Instead, it was replaced with hot, red emotion. All the fear, all the anger, all the humiliation, all the _hate_ that Finn felt for the man before him. His mind replayed each and every deprived act the brute had inflicted on him, from his very night where he had forced himself onto the captured Hibernian mercilessly to the hours of torture he had performed with a sick sense of glee, from the expulsion of Finn’s only friends, Becky and Fit Finlay, to the prolonged acts of emotional and psychological abuse. Everything he had done which had broken down even a strong, self-assured man like Finn to nothing more than a cowering wretch, conditioning him to doubt his own feelings and emotions to the point that it jeapordised him ever finding happiness again.

That it nearly drove a wedge between him and the man he loved.

Finn could never forgive him.

And now he channeled all of that fury into his attack. With an almighty bellow he streaked towards Corbin, spear raised, aimed for that patronizing grin on his captor’s face. Corbin, in turn, ran to meet Finn’s challenge head on.

The fight moved at a frantic pace, attacks and rebuffs coming from every angle so rapidly that it made the onlooker’s head dizzy. It was not the dazzling performance that Finn and Seth had given the other day, with all of its elegance and beauty, no, it was an ugly brawl, every blow delivered with such brutality that within seconds of it beginning, Finn’s face was already bloodied and the exposed skin on arms and legs were bubbling with nasty bruises.

But Corbin had not come away unscathed either. Although the number of Finn’s successful blows were heavily outnumbered by the number of Corbin’s, Finn had made every one of them count. Repeated blows to the knee had buckled the taller man’s limb, forcing him to limp around on his healthy leg, while his spear arm was blossoming in deep red welts dotted from wrist to shoulder. One time, Finn had leapt with all the power of a breaching shark and landed a bone-crunching blow across Corbin’s temple. The crack had echoed throughout the entire courtyard, making each and every onlooker wince. Yet, it had only rocked the commanding officer and he managed to block Finn’s secondary attack with ease.

Only a few minutes into the bout, both men were a battered mess, each breathing hard yet still maintaining their feet. Finn, despite its loathing for the man, had to admire his resilience. It was nigh on impossible to put him down. As he scrubbed the blood from his chin (whether it was oozing from his nose or mouth he did not know) and prepared himself for another onslaught, he lost his footing and stumbled. Although righting himself before he fell, he was hit with the cold hard truth. His body was worn out, his energy reserves running on empty and soon he would be completely spent.

Ultimately, the outcome of this battle would be decided by who had the best stamina, and Finn knew this had always been his weak point. Although able to evade for long periods of time, he had thrown himself headlong into this battle, fighting most of it on the offense and as a result had pushed his body to the limit. Corbin though, barely seemed to have broken a sweat, the well-drilled soldier the very picture of athleticism and prime fitness.

Finn took a step back, retreating for a breather. Looking to his right, his eyes found those of Seth. He looked terrified, staring in abject horror at the medusa he cared for so much about to meet its grisly end, just like in the stories his nurse maid had told him. He had not been able to save him after all.

If only it had been Seth in Finn’s position. The man had incredible stamina that even Corbin couldn’t rival. Finn had never been a match for the younger man’s vigour.

Except when…

… that was it!

The resolve returned to Finn’s features and he gave the smallest of smiles to his lover, a gesture so subtle that only Seth picked up on it. He knotted his eyebrows at the Hibernian, wondering what crazy idea was lurking in those topaz gems of his.

Finn returned his gaze to his opponent who took a moment to rub his swollen temple before entering the fray. Finn feigned exhaustion, panting heavily like a horse pushed to the limits by its rider to deliver urgent news, his body unable to right itself from pain and weariness. Corbin saw the weakness and charged, his battle-cry a screech of cruel laughter as he raised his spear high.

Finn rolled backwards, the spear missing him by a whisker, but instead of readying himself for the next attack, he turned tail and ran from the battleground.

‘Where you going, coward?’ Corbin roared. ‘Come back here and face me!’

Finn prayed to every one of his gods, to the One God that Seth worshipped and every other monster and deity in between that Corbin took the bait. Thundering footsteps pounding the ground behind him soothed his fears and he focused on his trajectory, sprinting past the outhouses of the smiths and stables until he saw his destination in front of him.

‘DAVIIIIIIIDDDDD!!!!!’ Corbin’s voice was a howl of righteous anger, a scream of a banshee foretelling Finn’s doom. But he pushed on. Closer. Closer.

He made it. One by one, he climbed the stone steps leading up to the battlement above the main gates, climbing to a point before spinning abruptly to face his opponent.

‘Nowhere to run, slave,’ Corbin sneered at his intended victim, already flushed from the short sprint. ‘I have you now.’

Finn almost felt sorry for the fly that had dived headfirst into his spider’s web. Almost…

He struck down with his spear, the battle resuming from before, the brutality and speed somehow driving up a notch. Behind them, the spectators from before came rushing up to oversee the final bout between master and slave, bringing with them a whole new host of curious onlookers, soldiers and servants alike. Each of them watching with wide, stunned expressions as the two men went to war, slowly making their way further and further up the steep, stone steps.

The bout seemed to sway in favour back and forth. Sometimes, Corbin would get the upper hand and Finn would have to retreat up several steps before the Hibernian wrestled back control and forced the commanding officer down a foot or two. It appeared to be a fight for territory, who could control the most space on the stairwell.

Only Seth fathomed Finn’s strategy and watched with his heart lodged in his throat, hoping against hope that it would work.

Finn was growing weaker by the second. Dread began to engulf his heart. Perhaps his gambit had not paid off after all. But then he saw it.

Corbin staggered.

There was only one condition where Finn could beat Seth’s stamina and that was on the heights. While most men struggled up the steep inclines, losing their breath as easily as an exposed money pouch to a nifty pickpocket, Finn, as Seth always said, was seemingly part mountain goat and took to the rises as if it were his natural habitat. He had hoped that by taking the battle to the steps it would give him an advantage, leaping up several at a time to coax Corbin to climb then forcing him back down to retread the same pattern over and over in an attempt to tire the man out.

And it was working!

_Smack!_

The move was so perfectly timed that Finn had no chance to react. Corbin’s spear came rocketing towards him, colliding with a hollow crack right on the side of Finn’s head. The Hibernian’s legs turned to jelly and he fell, landing heavily on the stone steps. A gasp surged through the crowd below. Seth forgot to breath.

‘I have you now,’ Corbin gasped out through ragged pants. Finn looked up through blurred vision to spy his master, seeing how his face had turned a deep beetroot, sweat dripping off his chin. Even so, he lifted his weapon, meaning to deliver the final blow.

Finn saw his last remaining chance and took it. Gripping his spear, he heard Regal’s words playing over and over in his head. _Just remember to try and stab your opponent with the pointy bit from time to time – it slows them down considerably._ He couldn’t lift it high but he didn’t need to. Corbin’s breastplate stopped just above his lower stomach, Finn could see the exposed crimson tunic directly in front of him. His aim was true, his thrust firm and with one last battle cry the blunted tip of his spear collided with Corbin’s mid-drift.

The last of Corbin’s wind was forced from his lungs and he gasped for breath. His spear fell from his grasp, clattering down the staircase as its wielder staggered to right himself against the wall. His hand went to his throat and he tried desperately to gulp in oxygen, the sounds of his frantic wheezing sickening to the ear. Finn watched on with no remorse, his cold eyes locked onto his captor. Corbin stared back in abject horror, knowing the end was in sight.

With the last of his energy, Finn eased himself up onto his feet, standing tall and proud. To Corbin, it evoked images of the legendary David himself, looming over the fallen giant, Goliath. Corbin gulped with horror as he realised his words had come to fruition; his beloved childhood statue had indeed come to life. To exact revenge on the monster who had terrorized him for so long.

The tip of the hero’s spear came to rest at Corbin’s jugular.

The crowd went as silent as the grave, no one sure how to react. Until Seth’s voice cut through the void.

‘It’s over!’ he cried. ‘ **Victory goes to Finn** Bálor!’

His companions took the lead, raising their voices in rousing cheers to their triumphant friend and soon the noise travelled like a wave until the entire crowd hailed the victor.

Finn took in the scene before him, watching the sea of faces smiling up at him but he only cared about one set of eyes. Dark and full of mystery. Seth was beaming from ear-to-ear, clapping his hands together in rapturous applause. Finn felt a sudden urge to be beside his lover, celebrate his victory together. At last, he removed his spear tip from Corbin’s throat and, discarding the weapon to the floor, he calmly walked past his beaten foe and down the stairs, making a beeline for Seth.

He hadn’t gotten far when he heard the cheering sink again, Seth’s face turning hard as he eyed a presence over Finn’s shoulder. It was then that Finn felt the blunted end of a speak jab into his back, right between the shoulder blades.

‘On your knees,’ Corbin’s voice was shaking, with rage or humiliation, Finn wasn’t sure but he knew he had no choice but to obey. The spear remained at his back as he slowly slumped to his knees, only moving once to the back of his skull forcing him to bow his head before releasing its grip on him.

Finn sat, waiting in dreaded fear. Surely it couldn’t end like this? Not after everything he had been through? Everything he had achieved. Corbin wouldn’t take it all away from him now.

There was a soft clink, a rattle of a chain and all of a sudden, the collar slid from his neck.

Finn’s bottom lip slackened in wonder. His hand flew to his neck, afraid it was simply a dream but after his fingertips ran over his freshly released skin, he knew it to be true. Just to be certain though, he looked over at Corbin’s hand and sure enough saw the intricate gold-plated band held tightly in the taller man’s taut fist.

‘You have done well,’ Corbin’s voice still had that shake to it. Finn looked up into his captor’s tense expression. ‘The tactics you employed… they showed a great deal of cunning.’

Despite Finn’s shock, his tongue found enough sense to return a cold, hard truth to his tormentor. ‘I have always been clever,’ he said, ‘but you were never interested in the merits of my mind.’

Corbin’s face tightened but he did not retort to Finn’s jab. ‘You have passed each of your trials. As a result, I release you into the ranks of the Imperial Red Army of the Cross.’ His voice dropped. ‘You are a free man, _Finn Bálor.’_

Finn felt an overwhelming ecstasy well up inside of him. He spun his head towards Seth and the pair exchanged a look of pure joy and relief. They had done it; they had won Finn his freedom! Now, they would never be parted again.

‘And as it transpires, I already have a position in mind for you.’ Finn’s face fell. He returned his gaze back to Corbin and every organ in his body turned to ice when he saw the look on his former master’s face. He was smiling… why was he smiling?

‘I have been waiting for a man of your caliber,’ Corbin went on, his normally passive expression unable to hide the menacing glee. ‘I am appointing you the esteemed position of my personal aide.’

_No! No!_

‘You understand what a great honour this is. Now take a few minutes to bid goodbye to your friends and collect what belongings you have. We leave for Londinium on the next ship.’


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hibernian finds his way home

Finn felt his entire world shatter into pieces around him. He should have known Corbin had one more dirty trick, an ace hidden up his sleeve. The man was a renowned field commander, had faced many a cunning enemy. He was used to planning for every outcome and had contingency plans for his contingency plans.

Of course he wasn’t going to let Finn walk away a free man.

If anything, he would be praying for Finn’s success in the exam so that he could bring his plaything with him. And it wouldn’t just be to Londinium, Finn’s panicked brain connected the dots. As his aide he would be at Corbin’s sides on missions, on the battlefield, in the court. He would forever be tied to Corbin, the chains he used to wear only getting shorter in length. No days where he could allow himself to breath. No long stints of his master’s absence where he didn’t have to dread what depravities he had in store for him that night. No! Now every single waking minute of every single day he would live in constant fear.

But what drove a spear directly into his heart was being parted from Seth. He had finally met someone he cared about to the point that he wished to be him until the day his heart stopped beating and he would come face-to-face with Arawn himself. He stared forlornly at his lover now but Seth barely noticed. He was engaged in a fierce battle of words with his superior. Through his stricken malaise, Finn couldn’t make out his words but he knew he was fighting tooth and nail to thwart Corbin’s sordid intentions.

And he wasn’t alone. Finn’s friends, Ricochet, Sami, Neville and Owens were all taking a stand. He felt a bubble of emotion well up in him. That fateful last day he spent in Bray, a place he considered his home, full of people he thought of as friends, haunted him. The way each of the men he knew so well, who he trusted with his very life, turned their back on him, bound him in chains and hammered a collar around his neck. He had never felt so alone and afraid in all of his life, awaiting an uncertain future without a soul to offer him comfort or aid.

And here he was once again, with his future remaining another terrifying mystery, a host of brand new acts of torture and abuse awaiting him, but this time, he was no longer by himself. His friends and lover were standing up for him, doing everything in their power to save him, even in the face of severe punishment.

As if reading his very thoughts, Finn worst fears were realised and he watched as several guards swarmed his group of friends and Seth. Each armoured soldier drew swords of steel and pointed them with deadly intent to his captured companions. Finn felt fingers of icy dread clawing at his heart.

‘Gentlemen,’ Corbin’s harsh voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, ‘you are under arrest for resisting a direct order from your High Constable. You will be taken to the cells and tried, if found guilty, you will taken to the gallows and-‘

‘Now, what is going on here?’

Every face turned at the sound of an approaching voice. Finn, still crouched on his knees on the floor, flung his head around and was never happier in his life to see Lord William Regal saunter calmly towards them.

‘Oh dash,’ he cursed lightly on seeing the scenes of drama around him, currently paused at his arrival. ‘I appear to have missed the entire exam, haven’t I?’

‘It appears you have,’ Corbin replied curtly, not one for playing games with the older man. He turned back to guards holding Seth and his men. ‘Take them away!’

‘Now hold on, wait just a second,’ Regal stepped closer, raising his palms to cool the enraged commanding officer. ‘What was the outcome of the exam? Did young Finn here pass?’

‘He did,’ Corbin confirmed through gritted teeth.

‘Ah, excellent,’ Regal beamed down at the kneeling Hibernian, but his smile was only met with a lost look of pleading mercy. ‘I knew he was capable. Rarely have I encountered a more gifted student.’

‘Indeed,’ Corbin snarled, his anger growing at the constant interruption from the Anglian. ‘I have appointed him my aide and these men here have not taken kindly to-‘

‘Your aide?’ Regal scoffed. ‘Oh no, no, no.’

‘You defy me too, old man?’ Corbin spat at Regal, raising the training spear in his hand towards him menacingly. ‘Need I remind you that I have been appointed High Constable. This is _my_ army, which means Finn Bálor belongs to _me_ and I can do what I want with him.’

‘Oh, now Corbin,’ Regal’s voice was still calm but an edge had crept in to his tone. ‘Need I remind you that this is the _Emperor’s_ army?’

Corbin’s voice strangled in his throat, his face turning pale. ‘Oh, oh why, yes, yes of course it is.’

‘And he has graciously bestowed the care of his Albion contingent to the King himself,’ Regal brandished a neatly folded note in his hand, holding it before Corbin’s face so he could clearly make out the royal seal. Corbin’s face turned as white as a sheet. ‘I apologise for my absence during the exam,’ Regal went on, addressing Finn, Seth and their small group of cohorts this time, still keeping his calm demeanour even though Finn was shivering uncontrollably at his feet and Seth along with his men were still surrounded on all sides by armed guards. ‘You see, I was awaiting the first boat in this morning. I believed there to be a messenger from Londinium, bringing a note from His Majesty. This very note I hold here in my hand. If I may, I would like to read you the King’s words.’

‘By… by all means,’ Corbin went on, the tremor evident in his speech.

Not in the slightest bit flummoxed by the scenes around him, Regal proceeded to break the seal on the note and unfold the parchment, clearing his throat politely before reading it out-loud.

‘It had come to my attention that a new recruit will be sitting his final exam despite only receiving three weeks of training. I wish to offer my gratitude to this recruit for choosing to join our esteemed ranks and extend him every good fortune in his trial.’ Regal paused and smiled down at Finn as if he should be humbled by the news but the Hibernian was too frozen with fear to appreciate the sentiment.

‘It goes on,’ Regal said and cleared his throat a second time. ‘I am to understand that this young man is our first Hibernian trainee so I believe it best, should he pass his exam, that he remain in his home nation as a symbol to his fellow man of the continued partnership between the Isle-born and the Cross and to encourage peace in his lands.’

Finn couldn’t hold back the gasp. It was a miracle. Finally, the gods had listened and taken pity on this wretched soul.

‘Furthermore, if this recruit should pass the exam in such a short space of learning, I believe he would thrive best under an equally remarkable young man. I thereby induct him into the ranks of one Officer Seth Rollins.’

Finn could barely allow himself to believe it. Had he heard correct? Was he dreaming?

Regal finished off by reeling the list of the King’s honours and titles before turning back with a lazy grin to Corbin. ‘So you see, your appointment of young Finn here as your aide is not viable. The King has already spoken.’

‘Y-yes, I see that now,’ Corbin bit back.

‘And as for these men here,’ Regal motioned towards Seth and his men. ‘I think you’ll find they knew of my little mission and only wished to warn you of my coming, for fear of you going against the orders of the King himself.’ Corbin’s teeth were grinding together so hard they were threatening to turn to dust. ‘I believe you should thank them for their loyalty to their commanding officer.’

‘Right,’ was all Corbin replied. With a snarly wave of the hand, he dismissed the guards, freeing Seth and Finn’s friends before storming away from the scene with a defeated growl.

Immediately after their release, everyone ran towards Finn and swarmed him on the ground, overjoyed at the good news. Finn finally felt the last ounce of fear leaving him as he became entangled in the limbs of his companions, hearing their laughter ringing in his ears. The relief hit him like a tidal wave as he felt Seth’s warm presence beside him. His hand reached out, found the back of Seth’s neck and pulled him close, resting their foreheads together. No words needed to be uttered, they could both feel the other’s happiness.

They were together at last.

They stayed this way, holding each other even when the rest of Finn’s friends pulled back. It was only when Finn felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder that he pulled away. He followed the line of the arm until his gaze came to rest on Regal’s proud face.

‘Go clean yourself up and rest… soldier.’

‘Where are we going?’ Seth asked as Finn tugged him by the wrist. ‘This isn’t the way to the washroom.’

Finn didn’t answer. Instead he continued to steer the younger man up the stairwell until he shoved open the door to Seth’s private chambers. Slamming the door behind him, Seth could barely ask why he had lead him here when Finn was on him, engulfing his lips with his own. Both of his calloused hands were on Seth’s cheeks, pulling his mouth as close as they could physically be as he hungrily attacked, Seth all too happy to oblige.

Finn kept his grip on the New-Worlder firm as he spun around and lead him to the bunk. Lying back, he pulled Seth down on top of him, hearing the bubble of laughter erupt from Seth’s throat. Tugging his head back, Seth giggled down at the Hibernian.

‘What _are_ you doing, soldier?’ he asked teasingly. Finn felt a thrill ride his spine on hearing his new title. It still seemed unreal and he was determined that this was all just a delirious fantasy and he would wake up sooner or later.

‘I couldn’t wait,’ he grinned from ear-to-ear. ‘I _needed_ you.’

‘But you’re a mess,’ Seth lightly scolded, looking down at the sorry state of his lover, covered in red welts and purple bruises, the sweat still glistening on his skin and sticking tufts of dark hair to his scalp, dried blood lining his nose and chin. ‘You need to bathe.’

Finn shook his head mischievously. ‘It can wait,’ he chirruped.

‘But you _stink!_ ’ Seth scrunched up his nose, playfully.

‘I want you Seth Rollins.’ Finn played his cruelest trick. The moment he opened his blue eyes wide and stared deep into Seth’s he knew he had won. Seth should never had admitted his weakness openly, now Finn had a deadly weapon in his arsenal any time he wanted to get his own way with the younger man. ‘I want to make love to you.’

He could see the resolve melting away like snow on a warm spring day. Seth was putty in his hands. ‘Hell’s teeth,’ he groaned out but Finn noticed the way he sucked in his bottom lip. The grin returned to the Hibernian’s face as his hands snaked around Seth’s waist, both palms slinking under the fabric of his tunic.

‘One condition,’ Seth moaned out at the Hibernian’s touch, his words losing themselves again as Finn landed soft kisses along the muscles of his neck.

‘Anything, my love,’ Finn replied, refusing to move his lips from the New-Worlder’s soft, sun-tanned skin.

‘I get to touch you this time.’

Finn’s boyish grin was his signal of consent and, sitting up to straddle the older man’s hips, Seth tugged the hem of Finn’s brown tunic and together they removed both the garment and his galerus, leaving Finn in his leather gauntlets, greaves and subligaculum. Seth leaned back to drink in the view below him and he nearly shed his load by just _looking_ at the Adonis between his thighs.

‘You look like a gladiator from the ancient arenas,’ Seth rasped out in wonder. ‘Fresh from the fight.’ His fingers gently glided over the many splotches of bruised skin on Finn’s naked torso, hovering particularly over the nasty gash on his left bicep. His eyebrows knotted in worry.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Finn wrapped Seth’s fingers with his own and squeezed them with reassurance.

‘Does it hurt?’ Seth asked, unable to pull his eyes away from the grisly result of McIntyre’s claymore, the fear rising in him again as he remembered the scene of his lover weaving left and right, each swipe of the titanic weapon missing him by a hair. His heart had been in his throat the entire time, terrified of what would happen if the claymore found its mark.

The sensation of Finn squeezing his fingers again stirred him from his memories. ‘A little,’ he admitted, ‘so why don’t you take my mind off of it.’ He guided Seth’s hand back to his chiseled torso and with the opportunity to finally lay his hands on the perfectly sculptured body of the Hibernian, Seth was eager to please.

Finn’s physique was everything Seth had fantasized about and more. Palming over the soft, smooth flesh, Seth was amazed to find not a single hair marring the pale skin. His finger and thumb teased the dusky pink nipple, twisting it until it hardened to a fine peak just like Finn had done to him the day before. It had nearly driven him crazy with lust and judging by the way his lover groaned beneath him, Finn was enjoying the sensation too.

With one graceful finger, Seth traced every crevice in Finn’s supremely defined stomach, skimming up and around every perfect abdominal, before slinking up between his pectorals, around his left shoulder and down under, admiring each of the beautiful lines as if it were a master’s work of art.

‘Urgh, you tease something fierce,’ Finn huffed beneath him, Seth’s delicate touch driving him crazy.

‘That’s what you get for pleasuring me like you did yesterday and then not allowing me to do the same,’ Seth scolded lightly before smoothing his finger up between Finn’s pecs again, this time, gliding it across to the Hibernian’s right shoulder. He paused as his finger hit a bump of scar tissue, the red line stretching from armpit to trapezius.

Flashbacks of Finn lying face down on the floor next to the body of his murdered stepfather, those blue eyes pleading with him for help as his tunic was forcibly cut away. How Seth had wanted desperately to do something to help that day, but he was afraid of the consequences and instead of aiding Finn like he should have, he had fetched the rope to bind him to Corbin’s horse.

‘Seth…’ Finn grumbled beneath him, and Seth let out a small sigh through his smile. It was all in the past now and as much as he wished he could scrub all the terrible things Finn had endured away like bloodstains on his sword, he couldn’t. But he had done the next best thing. He had helped free the dark haired man from his chains.

Leaning down, he softly planted sweet kisses all the way up the gruesome scar, aware that he was under the careful gaze of his beloved. His head moved to meet Finn’s, kissing him softly on the lips before trailing along his jaw, under his ear (he loved that he found, Finn unable to suppress the whine in his throat) and down his graceful neck, all the way down now with no infernal collar to block his advances. Then he reached Finn’s perfect torso and he left no skin untouched by his lips, his tongue swirling over both nipples and teasing the folds of his abdomen.

‘Seeeethhh….’ Finn was losing it underneath him. Seth saw both of his fists digging into the bed linen and clenching tightly, desperate to keep his libido under control. It only got worse when Seth trailed his mouth down his pelvis, coming to rest just above the fabric of his subligaculum. Already he could make out the immense bulge beneath the silk, a damp patch at the peak of the tenting.

Finn’s whole body jolted as Seth placed his mouth over the dampness and suckled at the hard head of Finn’s erection through his subligaculum. The older man’s hips bucked wildly but the weight of Seth on his thighs held him down in place. Every sound imaginable was thrumming up the Hibernian’s throat but his lips were pursed and they only came out as high-pitched drones. It was music to Seth’s ear but it was not enough to placate him. He wanted his lover to lose control entirely.

Seth moved position, placing himself between Finn’s chunky thighs instead of on them, taking a moment to softly trace the second gash from McIntyre’s claymore, the blood dry and sticky beneath his touch, before placing his hands at Finn’s hips, enticing them up. Finn complied, lifting his lower half off the bed, his breathing becoming stuttered as he anticipated Seth’s next move.

The New-Worlder’s fingers were trembling as they tugged at the silk fabric of Finn’s subligaculum, slowly unwinding it over his lover’s slim hips until it slipped away, revealing the wonders underneath. Seth didn’t even bother tossing the fabric away, he simply wrapped his arms around Finn’s hips so that he couldn’t get away and plunged his mouth over Finn’s hard manhood.

At last the Hibernian cried out, his body turning rigid at the sudden contact of Seth’s warm mouth over his most delicate flesh. His hands flew to his eyes, covering them as he clenched his teeth but as the younger man got to work on Finn’s erection, he couldn’t stop the barrage of whines and moans that escaped his lips.

‘Seth,’ he called his lover’s name, barely able to get the word out. ‘Hell’s teeth, Seth.’

Seth chuckled at the curse. Clearly his Hibernian lover had been learning some of the New World’s more crass phrases from his new companions.

‘Wait…wait, please.’ Seth paused, freeing Finn’s cockhead from his mouth as he lifted his head to eye his lover. Both of Finn’s arms, wrists still bound in leather greaves, were crossed over Finn’s face, hiding those stunning gems of the sky from him. His cheeks were on display though and flushed as red as the welts on his chest.

‘You want me to stop?’ Seth asked with a demonic glint in his eye.

‘No,’ Finn stuttered out, ‘but… I want…’ He removed his arms from his face, his hooded eyes dim with lust as he glanced down at Seth, buried between his thighs. ‘I want _more_.’

Seth understood but had to make sure Finn was truly comfortable with the prospect. ‘Me too,’ he smiled softly. ‘Are you sure, this is what you want. Are you ready for this?’

‘I am,’ Finn replied, no hesitation in his voice. ‘I want to feel you inside of me. Just promise me one thing. That I can see your face the entire time.’

‘I want that too,’ Seth nodded, solemnly. ‘I promise.’

‘I’m ready,’ Finn told his lover, spreading his legs wide but Seth shook his head in reply.

‘No, you’re not,’ he chastised. ‘Hold on a second.’

He got up from the bed and his legs, brimming with pins and needles, ached as he hobbled over to his trunk. Unlocking it and rummaging around inside, he pulled from it a small glass vessel. He returned to the bunk and positioned himself once again in between Finn’s muscular thighs. The Hibernian, intrigued as to what the younger man had brought, sat up to inspect the glass jar more closely.

‘It was a gift from an admirer,’ Seth explained as he pulled the cap from the jar and a flowery aroma filled both men’s nostrils.

‘Lavender,’ Finn noted, breathing in deeply.

‘It’s a richly infused oil,’ Seth explained, tipping a small droplet onto his fingertips and rubbing them together until they shone with slickness. ‘Now, lie back and relax. Let me know the instant you feel uncomfortable.’

Seth watched as Finn leaned back and closed his eyes, the fists at his side balling the bed linen once more. He was tense, as Seth expected him to be. The only time he’d ever had such intimacies with a man, it had been against his will.

Seth placed both hands between Finn’s legs, feeling a jolt from the older man. Softly, he pulled the Hibernian’s firm cheeks apart. They clenched instinctively but he never uttered an objection. Seth, just to be sure, checked with his lover verbally and Finn assured him he was safe to continue.

With one lubricated finger, Seth teased the puckered skin around Finn’s entrance, feeling every muscle around him tighten, even Finn’s thighs threatened to close in on him, but the Hibernian stopped himself from rejecting the officer’s touch. With one last check for verbal consent, Seth slowly edged his slick finger inside.

Finn gasped. Seth couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad gasp, so he pulled his finger out and leant over Finn to see his face clearly.

‘No, no, no,’ Finn whined. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘Ok,’ Seth replied warily and kept his stance, hovering over Finn’s chest, his eyes searching every inch of Finn’s face for discomfort as he replaced his finger inside of his lover. The gasp sounded again, only gaining traction as Seth began to slowly pump his finger back and forth.

‘Does that feel ok?’ Seth asked, tentatively.

‘Oh gods, yes!’ Finn replied and buoyed by the positive response, Seth quickened his pace. After finally feeling the muscle relax around his digit, he chanced to enter a second one. Those perfect pink lips of Finn parted wide, the sweetest groan ghosting out from between them as Seth continued to massage the Hibernian’s entrance, scissoring his fingers to stretch the delicate flesh.

‘Oh gods,’ Finn cursed again, unable to open his eyes as he became overwhelmed with pleasure. ‘I never knew it could be like this.’

‘Just wait, it gets even better,’ Seth countered, hoping he didn’t sound too arrogant but the small chuckle from Finn told him he found his lack of modesty endearing.

‘Then show me already,’ Finn grinned, looking as relaxed and content as a cat sprawled out in a patch of sunlight.

Seth removed his fingers, and used the last of the oily residue on them to slicken his hardened member. Placing a hand on either side of Finn, he positioned himself so that his cockhead rested against his glossy entrance. Both men began to breath heavy, almost afraid of their next move.

Seth gently entered Finn and watched as the older man’s face wrought and twisted as he was filled. At first Seth panicked but when the pink lips split into a manic grin, he felt at ease. He buried himself to the hilt inside of his lover and paused, allowing the smaller man to adjust to the intrusion, but Finn didn’t appreciate the gesture.

‘Come on already,’ he cried like a petulant child. ‘You’ve teased me enough.’

‘Fine,’ Seth giggled and placed a kiss on Finn’s pink cheek. ‘But remember, you did ask for this.’

Finn had given him his marching orders and Seth happily complied. The young officer pulled his hips back until he was almost completely free of Finn’s body before plunging back in. The wail of glee that emitted from Finn’s throat delighted the younger man and he began to thrust in earnest, each one a display of power and desire so strong it could topple mountains.

His gaze never left Finn’s face the entire time, watching the Hibernian become completely undone beneath him. His hands went over his eyes, grabbed at his hair, pulled at his lips, gripped the bed sheet. The noises that escaped him were as wild as a cat in heat, most of which were strangled in his throat before they even reach his tongue. Gone was the eloquence and rich vocabulary of the former farm boy, to be replaced with mad, slurring ramblings. The only words he could seem to form were ‘gods’ and ‘Seth’.

Seth decided to really show the cheeky Hibernian exactly what he was made of and how is name was still whispered within certain shady rooms around Londinium. Leaning back, he wrapped both arms around Finn’s thighs, each hand grasping a firm glute, and lifted the Hibernian’s lower abdomen high in the air. He thrust in deep, hitting Finn’s prostrate with all the accuracy and skill that he wielded with sword in hand.

Finn was done, spent, and he gave up on fighting the waves of ecstasy as they rolled over him, prickling his skin into goosebumps from head to toe. He hung limply in Seth’s arm, handing the more experienced man the reigns to his body. Somehow, someway, Seth actually picked up the pace, his own breathing becoming as ragged as his lover.

Finn felt his climax hit him with all the force of a bolt from Taranis. Crying out, he spilled his load, feeling the sticky liquid ooze over his stomach and down his raised hips. A few more thrusts from Seth and the younger man followed, his seed filling Finn’s insides with a warmth he hadn’t felt since the he’d sat by the fire on a winter’s night listening to his mother sing while he and his stepfather watched enraptured.

Seth, spent from his exertions, pulled out of Finn and collapsed next to him on the bunk, one arm wrapping tight around the limp Hibernian’s chest to pull him close. Finn tried to catch his breath, his mind still exploding in an array of bright colours.

‘That was… ’ Seth heaved, as Finn tried in vain to snatch his jumbled emotions and pull them back into some kind of order. ‘That was… incredible!’

‘More than incredible,’ Finn countered, shaking his head. ‘I had no idea.’

They lay in silence, nothing but each other’s breathing permeating the air.

‘Seth,’ Finn finally said after a while, finally feeling the exhaustion take over his senses.

‘Uh-huh?’ Seth mumbled, barely able to keep his eyes open himself.

‘Thank you,’ Finn turned his head to looked at his lover, finding those doe eyes closed, the long lashes lining two beautiful arcs, a picture of perfect peace and tranquility.

‘For what we did there?’ Seth asked, his teeth glinting in a small grin. ‘No problem.’

‘Well, yes,’ Finn lips quirked up at the corners. ‘But for everything. For taking a chance on me and freeing me from Corbin.’

Seth finally opened his eyes to look at Finn. The Hibernian felt immediately lost in them, like two never ending pools of the abyss.

‘I would do it again in a heartbeat,’ he said. ‘I only wish that, by freeing you from one cage, I didn’t have to trap you in another.’

Finn rolled onto his side and rested his cheek against Seth’s chest, hearing the rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat echo through his eardrum. He yawned as sleep began to take him over.

‘This is no cage,’ he whispered. ‘This is home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I wasn't going to let Corbin win! Poor Finn (and all of you too) have suffered enough and I did promise a happy ending!  
> The amount of support Flint and Steel has got has been absolutely amazing and I want to thank all of you for reading my strange mash up of wrestling and medieval history, for leaving kudos and writing amazing comments. I LOVE reading all of your reactions and kind words.  
> I am about a third of the way through F&S Part Two and will start posting this next week, however my life is about to change (I am eight months pregnant!) so I may not have the time to finish it. Rest assured, if I do, I will post it here first.  
> Once more, thank you all so much and here's hoping we get through this pandemic as quickly and safely as possible. Love you all xxx


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